THE  COMMON 
LOT 

ROBERT  HERRICR 


r 


UNIVERSITY  of  CALIFORNIA 

AT 

LOS  ANGELES 
UBRARY 


THE   COMMON   LOT 


THE   COMMON   LOT 


BY 


ROBERT   HERRICK 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THE  WEB  OF  LIFE,"  "  THE  REAL  WORLD,"  ETC. 


Nefo  If  orft 
THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 
1913 

Att  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1904, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  September,  1904.    Reprinted 
October,  November  twice,  December  twice,  1904 ;  January,  February, 
March,  1905;  June,  1906;  July,  1909  ;  March,  1913. 


Norton  a& 

1.  B.  Cashing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


TO 

E.  H.  A. 

AND 

M.  T.  A. 


PART  I 
THE  WILL 


THE  COMMON  LOT 


CHAPTER  I 

FROM  time  to  time  the  door  opened  to  admit  some  tardy 
person.  Then  the  May  sunlight  without  flooded  the  dim, 
long  hall  with  a  sudden  radiance,  even  to  the  arched  recess 
in  the  rear,  where  the  coffin  was  placed.  The  late-comers 
sank  into  the  crowd  of  black-coated  men,  who  rilled  the 
hall  to  the  broad  stairs.  Most  of  these  were  plainly 
dressed,  with  thick,  grizzled  beards  and  lined  faces :  they 
were  old  hands  from  the  Bridge  Works  on  the  West  Side, 
where  they  had  worked  many  years  for  Powers  Jackson. 
In  the  parlors  at  the  left  of  the  hall  there  were  more 
women  than  men,  and  more  fashionable  clothes  than  in 
the  hall.  But  the  faces  were  scarcely  less  rugged  and 
lined ;  for  these  friends  of  the  old  man  who  lay  in  the 
coffin  were  mostly  life-worn  and  gnarled,  like  himself. 
Their  luxuries  had  not  sufficed  to  hide  the  scars  of  the 
battles  they  had  waged  with  fortune. 

When  the  minister  ceased  praying,  the  men  and  the 
women  in  the  warm,  flower-scented  rooms  moved  grate 
fully,  trying  to  get  easier  positions  for  their  cramped 
bodies.  Some  members  of  a  church  choir,  stationed  at 
the  landing  on  the  stairs,  began  to  sing.  Once  more  the 


2  THE   COMMON   LOT 

door  opened  silently  in  the  stealthy  hands  of  the  under 
taker,  and  this  time  it  remained  open  for  several  seconds. 
A  woman  entered,  dressed  in  fashionable  widow's  mourn 
ing.  She  moved  deliberately,  as  if  she  realized  exactly 
the  full  effect  of  her  entrance  at  that  moment  among  all 
these  heated,  tired  people.  The  men  crowded  in  the 
hall  made  way  for  her  instinctively,  so  that  she  might 
enter  the  dining-room,  to  the  right  of  the  coffin,  where 
the  family  and  a  few  intimate  friends  of  the  dead  man 
were  seated.  Here,  a  young  man,  the  nephew  of  Powers 
Jackson,  rose  and  surrendered  his  chair  to  the  pretty 
widow,  whispering :  — 

"  Take  this,  Mrs.  Phillips !  I  am  afraid  there  is  nothing 
inside." 

She  took  his  place  by  the  door  with  a  little  deprecatory 
smile,  which  said  many  things  at  the  same  time :  "  I  am 
very  late,  I  know ;  but  I  really  couldn't  help  it !  You 
will  forgive  me,  won't  you  ?  " 

And  also :  "  You  have  come  to  be  a  handsome  young 
man !  When  I  saw  you  last  you  were  only  a  raw  boy, 
just  out  of  college !  Now  we  must  reckon  with  you,  as 
the  old  man's  heir,  —  the  heir  of  so  much  money  ! " 

Then  again :  "  It  is  a  long  time  since  we  met  over  there 
across  the  sea.  And  I  have  had  my  sorrows,  too !  " 

All  this  her  face  seemed  to  speak  swiftly,  especially  to 
the  young  man,  whose  attention  she  had  quite  distracted, 
as  indeed  she  had  disturbed  every  one  in  the  other  rooms 
by  her  progress  through  the  hall.  By  the  time  she  had 
settled  herself,  and  made  a  first  survey  of  the  scene,  the 
hymn  had  come  to  an  end,  and  the  minister's  deep  voice 


THE   COMMON   LOT  3 

broke  forth  in  the  words  of  ancient  promise,  "  I  am  the 
Resurrection  and  the  Life  "... 

At  this  note  of  triumph  the  pretty  widow's  interruption 
was  forgotten.  Something  new  stirred  in  the  weary 
faces  of  those  standing  in  the  hall,  touching  each  one 
according  to  his  soul,  vibrating  in  his  heart  with  a  mean 
ing  personal  to  him,  to  her,  quite  apart  from  any  feeling 
that  they  might  have  for  their  old  friend,  in  the  hope  for 
whose  immortality  it  had  been  spoken.  .  .  . 

"  I  am  the  Eesurrection  and  the  Life "  .  .  .  "  yet  in 
my  flesh  shall  I  see  God  "... 

The  words  fell  fatefully  into  the  close  rooms.  The 
young  man  who  had  given  his  chair  to  Mrs.  Phillips 
unconsciously  threw  back  his  head  and  raised  his  eyes 
from  the  floor,  as  though  he  were  following  some  point  of 
light  which  had  burst  into  sight  above  his  head.  His 
gaze  swept  over  his  mother's  large,  inexpressive  counte 
nance,  his  cousin  Everett's  sharp  features,  the  solemn, 
blank  faces  of  the  other  mourners  in  the  room.  It  rested 
on  the  face  of  a  young  woman,  who  was  seated  on  the 
other  side  of  the  little  room,  almost  hidden  by  the  roses 
and  the  lilies  that  were  banked  on  the  table  between  them. 
She,  too,  had  raised  her  face  at  the  triumphant  prophecy, 
and  was  seeing  something  beyond  the  walls  of  the  room, 
beyond  the  reach  of  the  man's  eyes.  Her  lips  had  parted 
in  a  little  sigh  of  wonder ;  her  blue  eyes  were  filled  with 
unwept  tears.  The  young  man's  attention  was  arrested 
by  those  eyes  and  trembling  lips,  and  he  forgot  the  feel 
ing  that  the  minister's  words  had  roused,  in  sudden 
apprehension  of  the  girl's  beauty  and  tenderness.  He 


4  THE   COMMON   LOT 

had  discovered  the  face  in  a  moment  of  its  finest  illu 
mination,  excited  by  a  vague  yet  pure  emotion,  so  that  it 
became  all  at  once  more  than  it  had  ever  promised. 

The  tears  trembled  at  the  eyelids,  then  dropped  un 
noticed  to  the  face.  The  young  man  looked  away 
hastily,  with  an  uncomfortable  feeling  in  beholding  all 
this  emotion.  He  could  not  see  why  Helen  Spellman 
should  take  his  uncle's  death  so  much  to  heart,  although 
the  old  man  had  always  been  kind  to  her  and  to  her 
mother.  She  had  come  to  the  house  a  great  deal,  for 
her  mother  and  his  uncle  had  been  life-long  friends,  and 
the  old  man  loved  to  have  the  girl  about  his  home.  Yet 
he  did  not  feel  his  uncle's  death  that  way ;  he  wondered 
whether  he  ought  to  be  affected  by  it  as  Helen  was.  He 
was  certainly  much  nearer  to  the  dead  man  than  she,  — 
his  nephew,  the  son  of  his  sister  Amelia,,  who  had  kept 
his  house  all  the  many  years  of  her  widowhood.  And 
—  he  was  aware  that  people  were  in  the  habit  of  saying 
it  —  he  was  his  favorite  relative,  the  one  who  would  in 
herit  the  better  part  of  the  property.  This  last  reflection 
set  his  mind  to  speculating  on  the  impending  change  in 
his  own  world,  —  that  new  future  which  he  pleasantly 
dreamed  might  bring  him  nearer  to  her.  For  the  last 
few  days,  ever  since  the  doctors  had  given  up  all  hope  of 
the  old  man's  recovery,  he  had  not  been  able  to  keep  his 
imagination  from  wandering  in  the  fields  of  this  strange, 
delightful  change  in  his  affairs,  which  was  so  near  at 
hand.  .  .  . 

"  There  is  a  natural  body,"  so  the  minister  was  saying 
solemnly,  "  and  there  is  a  spiritual  body.  .  .  .  For  this 


THE  COMMON  LOT  5 

corruptible  must  put  on  incorruption,  and  this  mortal 
must  put  on  immortality." 

The  young  man  tried  to  curb  his  imagination,  to  feel 
the  significance  of  the  fact  before  him  in  some  other  way 
than  as  it  might  affect  his  own  material  fate.  His  eyes 
rested  on  the  great  coffin  with  its  load  of  cut  flowers, 
and  he  thought  of  the  silent  face  that  lay  therein,  and 
wondered.  But  the  state  of  death  was  inexplicable  to 
him. 

When  the  minister  began  his  remarks  about  the  dead 
man's  personality,  the  tired  people  roused  themselves  and 
their  wandering  thoughts  came  back  to  their  common 
earth.  What  could  he  say  on  this  delicate  theme  ?  The 
subject  was  full  of  thorns!  Powers  Jackson  had  not 
been  a  bad  man,  take  his  life  all  in  all,  but  he  had  been 
accused,  justly,  of  some  ruthless,  selfish  acts.  He  had 
forced  his  way,  and  he  had  not  been  nice  about  it.  His 
private  morality,  also,  had  never  quite  satisfied  the  ideals 
of  his  neighbors,  and  he  could  not  be  called,  in  any  sense 
of  the  word  known  to  the  officiating  minister,  a  religious 
man. 

Yet  there  was  scarcely  a  person  present  to  whom 
Powers  Jackson  had  not  done  in  the  course  of  his  life 
some  kind  and  generous  act.  Each  one  in  his  heart  knew 
the  dead  man  to  have  been  good  and  human,  and  forgave 
him  his  sins,  public  and  private.  What  did  it  matter  to 
old  Jim  Ryan,  the  office  porter,  who  was  standing  in  the 
corner  with  his  son  and  grandson,  whether  Powers  Jack 
son  had  or  had  not  conspired  with  certain  other  men  to 
secure  illegally  a  large  grant  of  Texas  land !  He  and  his 


6  THE   COMMON  LOT 

family  had  lived  in  the  sun  of  the  dead  man's  kindness. 
So  it  went  with  the  others. 

While  the  minister  was  saying  what  every  one  agreed 
to  in  his  heart,  —  that  their  dead  friend  was  a  man  of 
large  stature,  big  in  heart  as  in  deed,  strong  for  good  as 
for  evil, — his  nephew's  thoughts  kept  returning  to  that 
glowing,  personal  matter,  —  what  did  it  all  mean  to  him? 
Of  course,  his  uncle  had  been  good  to  him,  had  given 
him  the  best  kind  of  an  education  and  training  in  his 
profession;  his  mother's  comfort  and  his  own  nurture 
were  due  to  this  uncle.  But  now  the  old  man  was  about 
to  give  him  the  largest  gift  of  all,  —  freedom  for  his 
whole  lifetime,  freedom  to  do  with  himself  what  he 
pleased,  freedom  first  of  all  to  leave  this  dull,  dirty 
city,  to  flee  to  those  other  more  sympathetic  parts  of 
the  earth  which  he  knew  so  well  how  to  enjoy !  .  .  . 

The  pretty  widow  in  the  chair  beside  him  fidgeted. 
She  was  exceedingly  uncomfortable  in  the  close,  stuffy 
room,  and  the  minister's  skilful  words  ro^^sed  merely  a 
wicked  sense  of  irony  in  her.  She  could  have  told  the 
reverend  doctor  a  thing  or  two  about  old  Powers !  There 
were  current  in  her  set  stories  about  the  man  which 
would  not  have  tallied  altogether  with  his  appreciative 
remarks.  She  had  seen  him  at  close  range,  and  he  was  a 
man,  like  the  others.  She  threw  back  her  jacket,  reveal 
ing  an  attractive  neck  and  bust.  During  the  service  she 
had  already  scanned  the  faces  of  most  of  those  in  the 
rooms,  and,  with  great  rapidity,  had  cast  up  mentally 
their  score  with  the  dead.  This  handsome  young  nephew 
was  the  only  one  of  them  all  that  counted  in  her  own 


THE   COMMON   LOT  7 

estimation.  What  would  he  do  with  the  old  fellow's 
money  ?  She  threw  a  speculative,  appreciative  look  at 
him. 

Across  the  room  the  girl's  face  had  settled  into  sober 
thought,  the  tears  drying  on  her  cheeks  where  they  had 
fallen.  With  that  glorious  promise  of  Life  Everlast 
ing  still  reverberating  in  her  soul,  she  felt  that  the  only 
real  Life  which  poor  human  beings  might  know  was  that 
life  of  the  "  spiritual  body,"  the  life  of  the  good,  which 
is  all  one  and  alike !  To  her,  Powers  Jackson  was  sim 
ply  a  good  man,  the  best  of  men.  For  she  had  known 
him  all  her  life,  and  had  seen  nothing  but  good  in  him. 
She  loved  him,  and  she  knew  that  he  could  not  be  evil ! 

Finally,  the  minister  rounded  out  his  thought  and 
came  to  the  end  of  his  remarks.  The  singers  on  the 
stairs  began  to  chant  softly,  "  Now,  0  Lord,  let  thy  ser 
vant  depart  in  peace ! "  And  the  tired  faces  of  the 
mourners  relaxed  from  their  tense  seriousness.  Some 
how,  the  crisis  of  their  emotion  had  been  reached  and 
passed.  Comforted  and  reassured,  they  were  about  to 
leave  this  house  of  mourning.  An  old  man,  childless,  a 
widower  of  many  years,  who  had  done  his  work  success 
fully  in  this  world,  and  reaped  the  rewards  of  it,  —  what 
can  any  one  feel  for  his  death  but  a  solemn  sense  of  mys 
tery  and  peace !  Perhaps  to  one  only,  the  girl  hidden 
behind  the  lilies  and  the  roses  in  the  dining-room,  was 
it  a  matter  of  keen,  personal  grief.  He  had  left  her 
world,  —  he  who  had  stroked  her  head  and  kissed  her, 
who  had  loved  her  as  a  father  might  love  her,  who  had 
always  smiled  when  she  had  touched  him, 


8  THE   COMMON  LOT 

On  the  sidewalk  outside  the  people  gathered  in  little 
knots,  speaking  in  subdued  tones  to  one  another,  yet 
luxuriating  in  the  riotous  spring  air.  Then  they  moved 
away  slowly.  After  the  house  was  nearly  emptied, 
those  mourners  who  had  been  in  the  dining-room  ap 
peared,  to  take  carriages  for  the  cemetery.  Mrs.  Phil 
lips  came  first,  talking  to  young  Jackson  Hart.  She  was 
saying :  — 

"  The  service  was  beautiful.  It  was  all  quite  what  the 
dear  old  gentleman  would  have  liked,  and  such  good  taste, 
—  that  was  your  part,  I  know  ! " 

He  murmured  a  protest  to  her  compliment  as  he 
handed  her  into  her  carriage.  She  leaned  toward  him, 
with  a  very  personal  air :  — 

"  It  is  so  different  from  the  last  time  we  met !  Do  you 
remember?  You  must  come  and  see  me,  soon.  Don't 
forget!" 

As  the  young  man  turned  away  from  her,  he  met 
Helen  Spellman  descending  the  long  flight  of  steps. 
The  girl  was  carrying  in  her  arms  a  great  mass  of  loose 
flowers,  and  his  cousin  Everett  who  followed  her  was 
similarly  burdened. 

"Are  you  going  on  ahead  of  us?"  Jackson  asked 
anxiously. 

"  Yes.  I  want  to  put  these  flowers  there  first ;  so  that 
it  won't  seem  so  bare  and  lonely  when  he  comes.  See ! 
I  have  taken  those  he  liked  to  have  in  his  library,  and 
yours  and  your  mother's,  too  ! " 

She  smiled  over  the  flowers,  but  her  eyes  were  still 
dull  with  tears.  Again  she  brought  bis  thoughts  back 


THE   COMMON  LOT  9 

from  self,  from  his  futile,  worldly  preoccupations,  back 
to  her  love  for  the  dead  man,  which  seemed  so  much 
greater,  so  much  purer  than  his. 

"That  will  be  very  nice,"  he  said,  taking  the  flowers 
from  her  hands  and  placing  them  in  a  carriage  that  had 
driven  up  to  the  curb.  "  I  am  sure  he  would  have  liked 
your  thought  for  him.  He  was  always  so  fond  of  what 
you  did,  of  you ! " 

"  Dear  uncle,"  she  murmured  to  herself. 

Although  the  dead  man  was  not  connected  with  her  by 
any  ties  of  blood,  she  had  grown  into  the  habit  of  calling 
him  uncle,  first  as  a  joke,  then  in  affection. 

"  He  always  had  me  select  the  flowers  when  he  wanted 
to  give  a  really  truly  dinner ! "  she  added,  a  smile  com 
ing  to  her  face.  "  I  know  he  will  like  to  have  me  take 
these  out  to  him  there  now." 

She  spoke  of  the  dead  in  the  present  tense,  with  a 
strong  feeling  for  the  still  living  part  of  the  one  gone. 

"I  should  like  to  drive  out  with  you!"  the  young  man 
exclaimed  impulsively.  "  May  I  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no!  You  mustn't,"  she  replied  quickly.  "There's 
your  mother,  who  is  expecting  you  to  go  with  her,  and 
then,"  —  she  blushed  and  stepped  away  from  him  a  little 
space,  —  "I  had  rather  be  alone,  please ! " 

When  the  heavy  gates  of  the  vault  in  Rose  Hill  had 
closed  upon  Powers  Jackson  forever,  the  little  group  of 
intimate  friends,  who  had  come  with  him  to  his  grave, 
descended  silently  the  granite  steps  to  their  carriages. 
Insensibly  a  wave  of  relief  stole  over  the  spirit  of  the 


10  THE  COMMON  LOT 

young  nephew,  as  he  turned  his  back  upon  the  ugly 
tomb,  in  the  American-Greek  style,  with  heavy  capitals 
and  squat  pillars.  It  was  not  a  selfish  or  heartless  desire 
to  get  away  from  the  dead  man,  to  forget  him  now  that 
he  no  longer  counted  in  this  world ;  it  was  merely  the 
reaction  from  a  day  of  gloom  and  sober  thoughts.  He 
felt  stifled  in  his  tall  silk  hat,  long  frock  coat,  patent- 
leather  shoes,  and  black  gloves.  His  spirit  shrank  from 
the  chill  of  the  tomb,  to  which  the  day  had  brought  him 
near. 

"  Let's  send  all  the  women  back  together,  Everett,"  he 
suggested  to  his  cousin,  "  and  then  we  can  smoke.  I  am 
pretty  nearly  dead ! " 

As  the  three  men  of  the  party  got  into  their  carriage, 
Jackson  took  out  his  cigarette-case  and  offered  it  to  his 
cousin;  but  Everett  shook  his  head  rather  contemptu 
ously  and  drew  a  cigar  from  his  breast  pocket. 

"  I  never  got  in  the  habit  of  smoking  those  things,"  he 
remarked  slowly.  There  was  an  implication  in  his  cool 
tone  that  no  grown  man  indulged  himself  in  that  boyish 
habit. 

"  He  never  liked  cigarettes  either,  —  wouldn't  have  one 
in  the  house,"  Jackson  commented  lightly. 

The  other  man,  Hollister,  had  taken  one  of  Everett's 
cigars,  and  the  three  smoked  in  silence  while  the  carriage 
bumped  at  a  rapid  pace  over  the  uneven  streets  that  led 
through  the  suburbs  of  Chicago.  Hart  wondered  what 
the  two  men  opposite  him  were  thinking  about.  Hollis 
ter,  so  he  reflected,  must  know  what  was  in  the  will. 
He  had  been  the  old  man's  confidential  business  agent 


THE   COMMON  LOT  11 

for  a  good  many  years,  and  was  one  of  the  executors. 
Everett  Wheeler,  who  was  a  lawyer  with  a  large  and  very 
highly  paid  practice,  was  another. 

Perhaps  this  second  cousin  of  his  was  to  get  a  good 
slice  of  the  property  after  all,  though  his  uncle  had 
never  displayed  any  great  fondness  for  Everett.  Yet  the 
lawyer  had  always  done  the  best  that  was  expected  of 
him.  He  had  entered  a  Chicago  law  office  from  the  high 
school  in  Michigan,  preferring  to  skip  the  intermediate 
years  of  college  training  which  Powers  Jackson  had 
offered  him,  and  he  never  ceased  referring  to  his  success 
in  his  profession  as  partly  due  to  the  fact  he  had  "  fooled 
no  time  away  at  college."  So  far  as  his  business  went, 
which  was  to  patch  together  crazy  corporations,  he  had 
no  immediate  use  for  a  liberal  education.  He  had  no 
tastes  whatsoever  outside  of  this  business  and  a  certain 
quiet  interest  in  politics.  His  dull  white  features,  sharp 
ened  to  a  vulpine  point  at  the  nose  and  chin,  betrayed 
his  temperament.  He  was  a  silent,  cool-blooded,  unpas- 
sionate  American  man  of  affairs,  and  it  would  be  safe  to 
say  that  he  would  die  rich.  Thus  far  he  had  not  had 
enough  emotion,  apparently,  to  get  married.  No!  his 
cousin  reflected,  Everett  was  not  a  man  after  Powers 
Jackson's  heart !  The  old  man  was  not  cold,  passion 
less.  .  .  . 

Those  two  men  opposite  him  knew  what  was  the  fact 
in  this  matter  so  momentous  to  him.  They  smoked, 
wrapped  in  their  own  thoughts. 

"I  wonder  who  was  the  joker  who  put  up  that 
monstrous  Greek  temple  out  there  in  the  cemetery?" 


12  THE   COMMON  LOT 

Jackson  finally  observed,  in  a  nervous  desire  to  say 
something. 

"  You  mean  the  family  mausd-leum  ?  "  Everett  asked 
severely,  removing  his  cigar  from  his  lips  and  spitting 
carefully  out  of  the  half-opened  window.  "That  was 
done  by  a  fellow  named  Roly,  and  it  was  considered  a 
very  fine  piece  of  work.  It  was  built  the  time  aunt 
Frankie  died." 

"  It's  a  spooky  sort  of  place  to  put  a  man  into ! " 

"I  think  the  funeral  was  what  your  uncle  would  have 
liked,"  Hollister  remarked,  as  if  to  correct  this  irrelevant 
talk.  "He  hated  to  be  eccentric,  and  yet  he  despised 
pretentious  ceremonies.  Everything  was  simple  and 
dignified.  The  parson  was  good,  too,  in  what  he  said. 
And  the  old  men  turned  out  in  great  numbers.  I  was 
glad  of  that!  But  I  was  surprised.  It's  nearly  two 
years  since  he  gave  up  the  Works,  and  memories  are  short 
between  master  and  man." 

"  That's  a  fact.  But  he  knew  every  man  Jack  about 
the  place  in  the  old  days,"  Everett  observed,  removing 
his  silk  hat  as  if  it  were  an  ornamental  incumbrance. 

"Yes,"  said  Hollister,  taking  up  the  theme.  "I  re 
member  how  he  would  come  into  the  front  office  on  pay 
days,  and  stand  behind  the  grating  while  the  men  were 
signing  off.  He  could  call  every  one  by  a  first  name. 
It  was  Pete  and  Dave  and  Jerry  and  Steve,  —  there 
wasn't  so  much  of  that  European  garbage,  then,  —  these 
Hungarians  and  Slavs." 

"  But  he  was  stiff  with  'em  in  the  strike,  though,"  the 
lawyer  put  in,  a  smile  wrinkling  his  thin,  pallid  lips.  "  He 


THE   COMMON   LOT  13 

fired  every  one  who  went  out  with  the  union, — never'd 
let  'em  back,  no  matter  what  they  said  or  did.  Those  there 
to-day  were  mostly  the  old  ones  that  didn't  strike." 

The  two  older  men  began  to  exchange  stories  about  the 
dead  man,  of  things  they  had  seen  while  they  were  work 
ing  for  him,  —  his  tricks  of  temper,  whims  of  mind.  Hoi- 
lister  spoke  gently,  almost  tenderly,  of  the  one  he  had 
worked  with,  as  of  one  whose  faults  were  flaws  in  a  great 
stone.  The  lawyer  spoke  literally,  impassively,  as  of 
some  phenomenon  of  nature  which  he  had  seen  often  and 
had  thoroughly  observed. 

Young  Hart  lit  another  cigarette,  and  as  he  listened  to 
the  stories  he  thought  of  the  girl's  face  just  as  he  had 
seen  it  that  day,  utterly  moved  and  transfixed  with  a 
strange  emotion  of  tender  sorrow  that  was  half  happi 
ness.  The  expression  puzzled  him,  and  he  ended  by 
saying  to  himself  that  she  was  religious,  meaning  by  that 
word  that  she  was  moved  by  certain  feelings  other  than 
those  which  affected  him  or  Everett  or  his  mother  even. 
And  this  new  thought  of  her  made  her  more  precious  in 
his  eyes.  He  looked  for  her  when  they  reached  the  som 
bre  old  house  on  Ohio  Street,  but  she  had  already  gone 
home. 

As  Hollister  was  leaving  the  house,  he  said  to  the 
young  man :  — 

"  Can  you  come  over  to  Wheeler's  office  to-morrow 
about  four  ?  Judge  Phillips  will  be  there,  the  other 
executor.  We  are  to  open  the  will.  They  have  sug 
gested  that  I  ask  you  to  join  us,"  he  added  hastily, 
with  an  effort  to  be  matter  of  fact. 


14  THE  COMMON  LOT 

"All  right,  Hollister,"  the  young  man  answered, 
with  an  equal  effort  to  appear  unconcerned.  "I'll  be 
over ! " 

But  his  heart  thumped  strangely. 


CHAPTER  II 

"  GET  all  ready  before  you  start,"  Powers  Jackson  had 
said,  when  his  nephew,  after  four  years  at  Cornell  and 
three  years  at  a  famous  technical  school  in  the  East,  had 
suggested  the  propriety  of  finishing  his  professional  train 
ing  in  architecture  by  additional  study  in  Paris.  "  Get 
all  ready,  —  then  let  us  have  results." 

He  had  taken  his  time  to  get  ready.  He  had  chosen 
to  go  to  Cornell  in  the  first  place  rather  than  to  a  larger 
university,  because  some  of  the  boys  of  his  high  school 
class  were  going  there.  With  us  in  America  such  mat 
ters  are  often  settled  in  this  childish  way.  The  reason 
why  he  chose  the  profession  of  architecture  was,  appar 
ently,  scarcely  less  frivolous.  A  "fraternity  brother" 
at  Cornell,  just  home  from  Paris,  fired  the  college  boy's 
imagination  for  "  the  Quarter."  But,  once  started  in  the 
course  of  architecture  at  the  technical  school,  he  found 
that  he  had  stumbled  into,  something  which  really  inter 
ested  him.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  worked 
seriously. 

At  the  Beaux  Arts  he  worked,  also,  though  he  did  not 
forget  the  amenities  of  life.  The  two  years  first  talked 
of  expanded  into  two  and  a  half,  then  rounded  to  a  full 
three.  Meanwhile  the  generous  checks  from  the  office 

15 


16  THE   COMMON  LOT 

of  the  Bridge  Works  came  with  pleasant  regularity.  His 
mother  wrote,  "  Powers  hopes  that  you  are  deriving  bene 
fit  from  your  studies  in  Paris."  What  the  old  man  had 
said  was,  "  How's  Jackie  doing  these  days,  Amelia  ? " 
And  young  Hart  was  "  doing  "  well.  There  were  many 
benefits,  not  always  orthodox,  which  the  young  Ameri 
can,  established  cosily  on  the  Rue  de  1'Universite,  was 
deriving  from  Paris. 

The  day  of  preparation  came  to  an  end,  however. 
During  those  last  weeks  of  his  stay  in  Europe  he  was 
joined  by  his  mother  and  Helen  Spellman.  Powers 
Jackson  had  taken  this  occasion  to  send  them  both 
abroad;  Mrs.  Spellman  being  too  much  of  an  invalid 
to  take  the  journey,  Mrs.  Amelia  Hart  had  been  very 
glad  to  have  the  girl's  companionship.  Jackson  met 
them  in  Naples.  After  he  had  kissed  his  mother  and 
taken  her  handbag,  to  which  she  was  clinging  in  miser 
able  suspicion  of  the  entire  foreign  world,  he  turned  to 
the  girl,  whose  presence  he  had  been  conscious  of  all  the 
time.  Helen  was  not  noticeably  pretty  or  well  dressed ; 
but  she  had  an  air  of  race,  a  fineness  of  feature,  a  certain 
personal  delicacy,  to  which  the  young  man  had  long  been 
unaccustomed.  Perhaps  three  years  of  student  life  in 
Paris  had  prepared  him  to  think  very  well  of  a  young 
American  woman. 

They  had  spent  most  of  their  time  in  Rome,  where  Mrs. 
Hart  could  be  made  happy  with  many  American  com 
forts.  She  was  much  given  to  writing  letters  to  her 
friends;  they  formed  a  kind  of  journal  wherein  she 
recorded  her  impressions  of  the  places  she  visited  and 


THE   COMMON   LOT  17 

the  facts  she  culled  from  the  guide-books  and  the  valets 
de  place  whom  they  employed.  She  wrote  a  round,  firm 
hand,  and  this  was  her  style  of  entry :  — 

"  This  morning  with  Helen  and  Jackson  to  the  Pala 
tine  Hill.  The  Palatine  was  one  of  the  Seven  Hills  of 
Rome.  It  was  anciently  the  home  of  the  Caesars.  That 
is,  they  had  tfceir  palaces  there,  some  remains  of  which 
exist  to  this  day.  ...  It  is  a  pretty  sort  of  place  now, 
where  there  are  stone  benches,  from  which  may  be  ob 
tained  a  good  view  of  the  Forum  and  the  best  ruins  of 
Ancient  Rome." 

Jackson  liked  to  tease  his  mother  about  her  literal 
method  of  sight-seeing.  In  her  way,  also,  Helen  was 
laborious  and  conscientious,  trying  to  solve  the  complex 
impressions  of  the  foreign  world.  The  young  architect 
was  content  to  wave  his  hand  toward  a  mass  of  pictu 
resque  ruins  as  they  flitted  past  in  a  cab.  "  Somebody  or 
other  Metellus  put  up  that  arch,"  he  would  remark  gayly. 
"  Good  color,  isn't  it  ?  "  The  women  would  insist  upon 
stopping  the  cab,  and  would  get  out.  Then,  guide-book 
in  hand,  they  would  peer  up  at  the  gray  remnant  of  an 
ancient  order  of  things.  So  with  the  Palatine,  —  Helen 
insisted  upon  studying  out  on  the  plan  the  House  of 
Livia,  and  puzzled  much  over  the  exact  situation  of  the 
Golden  House  of  Nero,  although  Jackson  assured  her 
that  no  remains  of  the  huge  palace  could  be  identified. 
She  had  a  conscience  about  seeing  as  much  as  she  could, 
gfad  seeing  it  honestly,  justifying  to  herself  the  careless 
architect's  flippancy  on  the  ground  that  he  had  been  so 
long  in  Europe  he  knew  what  to  avoid. 


18  THE  COMMON  LOT 

While  Mrs.  Hart  was  laboriously  filling  her  letters 
with  incontestable  facts,  the  two  young  people  went 
about  alone,  in  that  perfectly  normal  and  healthy  manner 
which  remains  an  everlasting  puzzle  to  the  European 
eye.  The  architect  took  keen  pleasure  in  teaching  the 
girl  to  recognize  the  beauty  in  a  Palladian  facade  and 
the  majestic  grandiosity  of  a  Santa  Maria  degli  Angeli. 
In  matters  of  color  and  line  the  girl  was  as  sensitive 
as  he,  but  he  found  that  she  lacked  the  masculine  sense 
of  construction,  the  builder's  instinct  for  proportion  and 
plan. 

Their  friendship  was  quite  simple,  untouched  by  any 
hectic  excitement,  or  even  sentiment.  The  architect 
was  twenty-seven  years  old,  and  he  had  seen  enough  of 
Parisian  manners  to  remove  any  superficial  virtue  which 
might  have  survived  his  four  years  at  Cornell.  But  this 
American  girl,  the  old  friend  of  his  family,  his  mother's 
companion  —  she  seemed  to  him  merely  the  pleasantest 
being  he  had  seen  in  months. 

So  their  six  weeks  in  Italy  had  been  very  happy  ones 
for  all  three,  —  six  golden  weeks  of  May  and  early  June, 
when  the  beautiful  land  smiled  at  them  from  every  field 
and  wall.  Each  fresh  scene  in  the  panorama  of  their 
little  journeys  was  another  joy,  a  new  excitement  that 
brought  a  flush  of  heightened  color  to  the  girl's  face. 
One  of  their  last  days  they  spent  at  the  little  village  of 
Eavello,  on  the  hilltop  above  Anialfi,  and  there  in  the  clear 
twilight  of  a  warm  June  day,  with  gold-tipped  clouds 
brooding  over  the  Bay  of  Salerno,  they  came  for  the  first 
time  upon  the  personal  note.  They  were  leaning  over 


THE  COMMON  LOT  19 

the  railing  of  the  terrace  in  the  Palumbo,  listening  to  the 
bells  in  the  churches  of  Vetri  below  them. 

"  Wouldn't  this  be  good  for  always ! "  he  murmured. 

He  was  touched  with  sentimental  self-pity  at  the 
thought  of  leaving  all  this,  —  the  beauty,  the  wonder, 
the  joy  of  Europe !  In  another  short  month  instead  of 
these  golden  hours  of  full  sensation  there  would  be 
Chicago,  whose  harsh  picture  a  three  years'  absence  had 
not  softened. 

"  I  don't  know,"  the  girl  replied,  with  a  long  sigh  for 
remembered  joy.  "  One  could  not  be  as  happy  as  this 
for  months  and  years." 

"I'd  like  to  try  ! "  he  said  lightly. 

"  No  !  Not  you ! "  she  retorted  with  sudden  warmth. 
"What  could  a  man  do  here?" 

"  There  are  a  lot  of  fellows  in  Europe  who  manage  to 
answer  that  question  somehow.  Most  of  the  men  I  knew 
in  Paris  don't  expect  to  go  back  yet,  and  not  to  Chicago 
anyway." 

Her  lips  compressed  quickly.  Evidently  they  were 
not  the  kind  of  men  she  thought  well  of. 

"  Why ! "  she  stammered,  words  crowding  tempestu 
ously  to  her  tongue.  "  How  could  you  stay,  and  not 
work  out  your  own  life,  not  make  your  own  place  in  the 
world  like  uncle  Powers  ?  How  it  would  trouble  him  to 
hear  you  say  that ! " 

She  made  him  a  trifle  ashamed  of  his  desire  to  keep 
out  of  the  fight  any  longer.  Hers,  he  judged,  was  a  mili 
tant,  ambitious  nature,  and  he  was  quick  to  feel  what 
she  expected  of  him. 


20  THE  COMMON  LOT 

After  they  had  sat  there  a  long  time  without  speaking, 
she  said  gently,  as  if  she  wished  to  be  just  to  him :  — 

"  It  might  be  different,  if  one  were  an  artist ;  but  even 
then  I  should  think  a  man  would  want  to  carry  back 
what  he  had  received  here  to  the  place  he  was  born  in,  — • 
shouldn't  you?" 

"Well,  perhaps,"  he  admitted,  "if  the  place  weren't 
just  —  Chicago!  It  wouldn't  seem  much  use  to  carry 
this  back  there  The  best  thing  for  a  man  would  be  to 
forget  it,"  he  concluded  rather  bitterly. 

They  never  came  back  to  this  topic.  Nevertheless 
those  simple  words  which  the  girl  had  spoken  in  that 
garden  of  Ravello  became  a  tonic  for  him  at  other  mo 
ments  of  shrinking  or  regret.  He  felt  what  was  in  her 
eyes  a  man's  part. 

They  made  the  long  voyage  homewards  through  the 
Mediterranean,  touching  at  Gibraltar  for  a  last,  faint 
glimpse  of  romance.  It  was  a  placid  journey  in  a  slow 
steamer,  with  a  small  company  of  dull,  middle-aged 
Americans,  and  the  two  young  people  were  left  much  to 
themselves.  In  the  isolation  of  the  sunny,  windless  sea, 
their  acquaintance  took  on  imperceptibly  a  personal  char 
acter.  After  the  fashion  of  the  egotistic  male,  he  told 
her,  bit  by  bit,  all  that  he  knew  about  himself,  —  his 
college  days,  his  friends,  and  his  work  at  the  Beaux  Arts. 
From  the  past,  —  his  past,  —  they  slid  to  the  future  that 
lay  before  him.  on  the  other  shore  of  the  Atlantic.  He 
sketched  for  her  in  colored  words  the  ideals  of  his  majes- 


THE   COMMON   LOT  21 

tic  art.  Tucked  up  on  deck  those  long,  cloudless  nights, 
they  reached  the  higher  themes,  —  what  a  man  could  do, 
as  Eichardson  and  Atwood  had  shown  the  glorious  way, 
toward  expressing  the  character  and  spirit  of  a  fresh  race 
in  brick  and  stone  and  steel ! 

Such  thoughts  as  these  touched  the  girl's  imagination, 
just  as  the  sweet  fragments  of  a  civilization  finer  than 
ours  had  stirred  her  heart  in  Italy.  All  these  ideas 
which  the  young  man  poured  forth,  she  took  to  be  the 
architect's  original  possessions,  not  being  familiar  with 
the  froth  of  Paris  studios,  the  wisdom  of  long  d&jeuners. 
And  she  was  doubly  eager  whenever  he  mentioned  his  plans 
for  the  future.  For  something  earnest  and  large  was  the 
first  craving  of  her  soul,  something  that  had  in  it  service 
and  beauty  in  life. 

At  the  time  of  the  great  exposition  in  Chicago  she  had 
had  such  matters  first  brought  to  her  attention.  Powers 
Jackson,  as  one  of  the  directors  of  the  enterprise,  had 
entertained  many  of  the  artists  and  distinguished  men 
who  came  to  the  city,  and  at  his  dinner-table  she  had 
heard  men  talk  whose  vital  ideals  were  being  worked  into 
the  beautiful  buildings  beside  the  lake.  Their  words  she 
had  hoarded  in  her  schoolgirl's  memory,  and  now  in  her 
sympathy  for  the  young  architect  she  began  to  see  what 
could  be  done  with  an  awakened  feeling  for  art,  for  social 
life,  to  make  our  strong  young  cities  memorable.  This, 
she  imagined  shyly,  would  be  the  work  of  the  man  beside 
her! 

He  was  handsome  and  strong,  vigorously  built,  though 
inclined  to  heaviness  of  body.  His  brown  hair  waved 


22  THE   COMMON  LOT 

under  his  straw  hat,  and  a  thick  mustache  turned  stiffly 
upwards  in  the  style  of  the  German  Emperor,  which  was 
then  just  coming  into  fashion.  This  method  of  wearing 
the  mustache,  and  also  a  habit  of  dressing  rather  too  well, 
troubled  the  girl;  for  she  knew  that  uncle  Powers  would 
at  once  note  such  trivial  aspects  of  his  nephew.  The 
keen  old  man  might  say  nothing,  but  he  would  think 
contemptuous  thoughts.  The  young  architect's  com 
plexion  was  ruddy,  healthily  bronzed ;  his  features  were 
regular  and  large,  as  a  man's  should  be.  Altogether  he 
was  a  handsome,  alert,  modern  American.  Too  hand 
some,  perhaps !  She  thought  apprehensively  of  the 
rough-looking,  rude  old  man  at  home,  his  face  tanned  and 
beaten,  knobby  and  hard,  like  the  gnarled  stump  of  an  oak! 

She  was  very  anxious  that  the  architect  should  make 
a  good  impression  on  his  uncle,  not  simply  for  his  own 
sake,  but  for  the  lonely  old  man's  comfort.  She  felt 
that  she  knew  Powers  Jackson  better  than  his  nephew 
did;  knew  what  he  liked  and  what  he  despised.  She 
wanted  him  to  love  this  nephew,  and  several  times  she 
talked  to  Jackson  about  his  uncle.  The  young  man 
listened  with  an  amused  smile,  as  if  he  had  already  a 
good  formula  for  the  old  man. 

"Mother  can't  get  him  out  of  that  brick  Mansard 
roost  on  Ohio  Street,  where  he  has  lived  since  the  fire. 
All  his  friends  have  moved  away  from  the  neighborhood. 
But  he  thinks  the  black-walnut  rooms,  the  stamped 
leather  on  the  walls,  and  the  rest  of  it,  is  the  best  going 
yet.  That  buffet,  as  he  calls  it !  It's  early  Victorian, 
a  regular  chef-d'oeuvre  of  ugliness.  That  house  1 " 


THE   COMMON  LOT  23 

"It's  always  been  his  home/'  she  protested,  finding 
something  trivial  in  this  comic  emphasis  on  sideboards 
and  bookcases.  "  He  cares  about  good  things  too. 
Lately  he's  taken  to  buying  engravings.  Mr.  Pemberton 
interested  him  in  them.  And  I  think  he  would  like  to 
buy  pictures,  if  he  wasn't  afraid  of  being  cheated,  of 
making  a  fool  of  himself." 

"  You'll  make  him  out  a  patron  of  the  fine  arts ! " 

Jackson  laughed  merrily  at  the  picture  of  Powers 
Jackson  as  a  connoisseur  in  art. 

"  Perhaps  he  will  be  yet ! "  she  retorted  stoutly.  "  At 
any  rate,  he  is  a  very  dear  old  man." 

He  would  not  have  described  his  uncle  Powers  in  the 
same  simple  words.  Still  he  had  the  kindest  feelings 
toward  him,  mixed  with  a  latent  anxiety  as  to  what  the 
old  man  might  do  about  his  allowance,  now  that  his 
school  days  had  come  definitely  to  a  close.  .  .  . 

Thus  in  the  long  hours  of  that  voyage,  with  the  sound 
of  the  gurgling,  dripping  water  all  about  them,  soothed 
by  the  rhythm  of  pounding  engines,  the  man  and  the 
woman  came  to  a  sort  of  knowledge  of  each  other.  At 
least  there  was  created  in  the  heart  of  each  a  vision  of 
the  other.  The  girl's  vision  was  glorified  by  the  warmth 
of  her  imagination,  which  transformed  all  her  simple 
experiences.  In  her  heart,  if  she  had  looked  there,  she 
would  have  seen  an  image  of  youth  and  power,  very  hand 
some,  with  great  masculine  hopes,  and  aspirations  after 
un wrought  deeds.  Unconsciously  she  had  given  to  that 
image  something  which  she  could  never  take  back  all  the 
years  of  her  life,  let  her  marry  whom  she  might ! 


24  THE  COMMON  LOT 

And  he  could  remember  her,  if  hereafter  he  should 
come  to  love  her,  as  she  was  these  last  days.  The 
shadow  of  the  end  of  the  romance  was  upon  her,  and  it 
left  her  subdued,  pensive,  but  more  lovely  than  ever 
before.  To  the  artist's  eye  in  the  architect  her  head  was 
too  large,  the  brow  not  smooth  enough,  the  hair  two 
shades  too  dark,  the  full  face  too  broad.  The  blue  eyes 
and  the  trembling,  small  mouth  gave  a  certain  childish 
ness  to  her  expression  that  the  young  man  could  not 
understand.  It  was  only  when  she  spoke  that  he 
was  much  moved ;  for  her  voice  was  very  sweet,  uncer 
tain  in  its  accents,  tremulous.  She  seemed  to  breathe 
into  commonplace  words  some  revelation  of  her 
self.  .  .  . 

On  the  morning  of  their  arrival  the  lofty  buildings  of 
the  great  city  loomed  through  the  mist.  The  architect 
said :  — 

"  There  are  the  hills  of  the  New  World !  Here  endeth 
the  first  chapter." 

"I  cannot  believe  it  has  ended,"  she  replied  slowly. 
"  Nothing  ends  ! " 

Powers  Jackson  and  Mrs.  Spellman  met  the  travellers 
in  New  York.  It  was  just  at  the  time  that  Jackson  was 
negotiating  with  the  promoters  of  a  large  trust  for  the 
sale  of  his  Bridge  Works.  This  fact  his  nephew  droTiot 
learn  until  some  months  later,  for  the  old  man  never 
talked  about  his  deeds  and  intentions.  At  auy  rate,  he 
did  sell  the  Works  one  morning  in  the  lobby  of  his  hotel 
and  for  his  own  price,  which  was  an  outrageous  one,  as 


THE   COMMON   LOT  25 

the  stockholders  of  the  new  trust  came  to  know  in  time 
to  their  chagrin. 

He  shook  hands  with  his  sister,  kissed  Helen  on  the 
forehead,  and  nodded  to  his  nephew. 

"  How's  the  Pope,  Amelia  ?  "  he  asked  gravely. 

"You  needn't  ask  me!  Did  you  think,  Powers,  I'd 
be  one  to  go  over  to  the  Vatican  and  kiss  that  old  man's 
hand  ?  I  hope  I'm  too  good  a  Christian  to  do  that ! " 

"  Oh,  don't  be  too  hard  on  the  poor  feller,"  Jackson 
said,  continuing  his  joke.  "I  hoped  you'd  pay  your 
respects  to  the  Pope.  Why,  he's  the  smartest  one  in  the 
whole  bunch  over  there,  I  guess  ! '; 

He  looked  to  Helen  for  sympathy.  It  should  be  said 
that  Powers  Jackson  regarded  his  sister  Amelia  as  a  fool, 
but  that  he  never  allowed  himself  to  take  advantage  of 
the  fact  except  in  such  trifling  ways  as  this. 

When  the  two  men  were  alone  in  the  private  parlor  at 
the  hotel,  the  uncle  said :  — 

"  So  you've  finished  up  now  ?  You're  all  through 
over  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  Hart  answered,  not  feeling  quite  at  his 
ease  with  this  calm  old  man.  "I  guess  I  am  ready  to 
begin  building,  as  soon  as  any  one  will  have  me ! " 

"  I  $ee  there's  plenty  doing  in  your  line,  all  over." 

"  I  um  glad  to  hear  that." 

rJJie  architect  fidgeted  before  he  could  think  what  to 
say  jaext.  Then  he  managed  to  express  his  sense  of  grati 
tude  for^the  great  opportunities  his  uncle  had  given 
him  in  Paris.  Jackson  listened,  but  said  nothing.  The 
architect  was  conscious  that  the  old  man  had  taken  in 


26  THE   COMMON  LOT 

with  one  sweep  of  those  sharp  little  eyes  his  complete 
appearance.  He  suspected  that  the  part  in  the  middle 
of  his  brown  hair,  the  pert  lift  to  the  ends  of  his  mus 
tache,  the  soft  stock  about  his  neck,  the  lavender  colored 
silk  shirt  in  which  he  had  prepared  to  meet  the  pitiless 
glare  of  the  June  sun  in  the  city,  —  that  all  these  items 
had  been  noted  and  disapproved.  He  reflected  somewhat 
resentfully  that  he  was  not  obliged  to  make  a  guy  of 
himself  to  please  his  uncle.  He  found  his  uncle's  clothes 
very  bad.  Powers  Jackson  was  a  large  man,  and  his 
clothes,  though  made  by  one  of  the  best  tailors  in 
Chicago,  usually  had  a  draggled  appearance,  as  if  he  had 
forgotten  to  take  them  off  when  he  went  to  bed.  How 
ever,  when  the  old  man  next  spoke,  he  made  no  reference 
to  his  nephew's  attire. 

"  I  was  talking  to  Wright  about  you  the  other  day. 
Ever  heard  of  him  ?  " 

"Of  Walker,  Post,  and  Wright?"  Hart  asked,  nam 
ing  one  of  the  best-known  firms  of  architects  in  the 
country. 

"Yes.  They've  been  doing  something  for  me  lately. 
If  you  haven't  made  any  plans,  you  might  start  in  their 
Chicago  office.  That'll  teach  you  the  ropes  over  here." 

Nothing  was  said  about  an  allowance  or  a  continuation 
of  those  generous  and  gratefully  acknowledged  checks 
which  had  made  life  at  Cornell  and  at  Paris  so  joyous. 
And  nothing  more  was  ever  said  about  them  !  Jackson 
Hart  had  taken  the  position  that  his  uncle  had  secured 
for  him  in  Wright's  Chicago  office,  and  within  a  fort 
night  of  the  day  he  landed  at  New  York  he  was  making 


THE   COMMON   LOT  27 

his  daily  pilgrimage  to  the  twelfth  floor  of  the  Mara- 
manoc  Building,  where  under  the  bulkheads  worked  a 
company  of  young  gentlemen  in  their  shirt-sleeves. 

That  was  two  years  ago,  and  by  this  time  he  was  eager 
for  almost  any  kind  of  change. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  morning  after  the  funeral  Francis  Jackson  Hart 
resumed  his  work  on  the  plans  of  a  large  hotel  that 
Walker,  Post,  and  Wright  were  to  build  in  Denver. 
This  was  in  all  probability  the  last  piece  of  work  that 
he  should  be  called  upon  to  do  for  that  firm,  and  the 
thought  was  pleasant  to  him.  He  had  not  spent  an  alto 
gether  happy  two  years  in  that  office.  It  was  a  large 
firm,  with  other  offices  in  St.  Paul  and  New  York,  and 
work  under  construction  in  a  dozen  different  states. 
Wright  was  the  only  member  of  the  firm  who  came 
often  to  Chicago ;  he  dropped  into  the  office  nearly 
every  month,  arriving  from  somewhere  south  or  east,  and 
bound  for  somewhere  north  or  west,  with  only  a  few 
days  to  spare.  During  these  brief  visits  he  was  always 
tremendously  rushed  —  plans  under  way  in  the  office  had 
to  be  looked  over  and  criticised ;  the  construction  in 
the  immediate  neighborhood  examined ;  new  business  to 
be  discussed  with  the  firm's  clients,  and  much  else.  He 
was  a  tall,  thin  man,  with  harassed,  near-sighted  eyes,  — 
a  gentleman  well  trained  in  his  profession  and  having 
good  taste  according  to  the  standards  of  a  generation  ago. 
But  he  had  fallen  upon  a  commercial  age,  and  had  not 
been  large  enough  to  sway  it.  He  made  decent  com- 

28 


THE   COMMON  LOT  29 

promises  between  his  own  taste  and  that  of  his  clients, 
and  took  pride  in  the  honest  construction  of  his 
buildings. 

Wright  had  hurt  Hart's  susceptibilities  almost  at  the 
start,  when  he  remarked  about  a  sketch  that  the  young 
architect  had  made  for  a  new  telephone  exchange :  — 

"All  you  want,  my  boy,  is  the  figure  of  a  good  fat 
woman  flopping  over  that  door ! " 

For  the  next  few  months  Hart  had  been  kept  busy 
drawing  spandrels.  From  this  he  was  promoted  to  de 
signing  stables  for  country  houses  of  rich  clients.  He 
resented  the  implied  criticism  of  his  judgment,  and  he 
put  Wright  down  as  a  mere  Philistine,  who  had  got  all 
his  training  in  an  American  office. 

Now,  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  took  down  his  street 
coat  and  adjusted  his  cuffs  before  going  over  to  his 
cousin's  office  to  hear  the  will,  he  should  leave  Wright's 
"  department  store,"  and  "  show  the  old  man  "  what  he 
thought  of  the  kind  of  buildings  the  firm  was  putting  up 
for  rich  and  common  people.  He,  at  least,  would  not 
be  obliged  to  be  mercenary.  His  two  years'  experience 
in  Chicago  had  taught  him  something  about  the  fierce 
ness  of  the  struggle  to  exist  in  one  of  the  professions, 
especially  in  a  profession  where  there  is  an  element  of 
fine  art.  And  his  appetite  to  succeed,  to  be  some  one 
of  note  in  this  hurly-burly  of  Chicago,  had  grown  very 
fast.  For  he  had  found  himself  less  of  a  person  in  his 
native  city  than  he  had  thought  it  possible  over  in  Paris, 
—  even  with  the  help  of  his  rich  uncle,  with  whom  he 
had  continued  to  live. 


80  THE  COMMON   LOT 

So,  as  the  elevator  of  the  Dearborn  Building  bore  him 
upwards  that  afternoon,  his  heart  beat  exultantly:  he 
was  to  hear  in  a  few  moments  the  full  measure  of  that 
advantage  which  he  had  been  given  over  all  the  toiling, 
sweating  humanity  here  in  the  elevator,  out  there  on  the 
street!  By  the  right  of  fortunate  birth  he  was  to  be 
spared  the  common  lot  of  man,  to  be  placed  high  up  on 
the  long,  long  ladder  of  human  fate.  .  .  . 

When  he  entered  Everett  Wheeler's  private  office, 
Hollister  was  talking  with  Judge  Phillips.  The  latter 
nodded  pleasantly  to  the  young  man,  and  gave  him  his 
hand. 

"How  do  you  do,  sir?"  he  asked,  with  emphatic 
gravity. 

The  judge,  who  had  not  sat  in  a  court  for  more  than  a 
generation,  was  a  vigorous,  elderly  man  with  a  sweeping 
gray  mustache.  He  was  an  old  resident  of  Chicago,  and 
had  made  much  money,  some  of  it  in  Powers  Jackson's 
enterprises. 

Hollister  nodded  briskly  to  the  architect,  and  motioned 
him  to  a  seat.  Presently  Everett  came  in  from  the  safe 
where  he  had  gone  to  get  some  papers,  and  Hollister, 
who  seemed  to  be  spokesman  for  the  executors,  clearing 
his  throat,  began :  — 

"Well,  gentlemen,  we  all  know  what  we  are  here  for, 
I  presume." 

The  young  architect  never  remembered  clearly  how 
all  the  rest  of  it  came  about.  At  first  he  wondered  why 
old  Hollister  should  open  the  proceedings  with  such 


THE  COMMON   LOT  31 

elaborate  eulogies  of  the  dead  man.  Hollister  kept  say 
ing  that  few  men  had  understood  the  real  man  in  Powers 
Jackson,  —  the  warm  man's  heart  that  beat  beneath  the 
rude  and  silent  manner. 

"I  want  to  say,"  Hollister  exclaimed  in  a  burst  of 
unwonted  emotion,  "  that  it  was  more  than  mutual  inter 
est  which  allied  the  judge  and  me  to  Mr.  Jackson.  It 
was  admiration !  Admiration  for  the  man ! " 

The  judge  punctuated  this  opinion  with  a  grave  nod. 

"  Especially  these  latter  years,  when  Mr.  Jackson  was 
searching  for  a  way  in  which  he  might  most  benefit  the 
world  with  the  fortune  that  he  had  earned  by  his  ability 
and  hard  work." 

The  gray-bearded  man  ceased  talking  for  a  moment 
and  looked  at  the  two  younger  men.  Everett  was  par 
ing  his  nails,  very  neatly,  with  the  air  of  detachment 
he  assumed  when  he  was  engaged  in  taking  a  deposition. 
The  architect  looked  blankly  mystified. 

"He  wanted  to  help  men,"  Hollister  resumed  less 
demonstratively.  "  Especially  workingmen,  the  kind  of 
men  he  had  come  from  and  had  known  all  his  life.  He 
never  forgot  that  he  worked  at  the  forge  the  first  five 
years  he  lived  in  Chicago.  And  no  matter  what  the 
labor  unions  say,  or  the  cheap  newspaper  writers,  there 
wasn't  a  man  in  this  city  who  cared  for  the  best  interests 
of  laboring  men  more  than  Powers  Jackson." 

Across  the  judge's  handsome  face  flitted  the  glimmer 
of  a  smile,  as  if  other  memories,  slightly  contradictory 
would  intrude  themselves  on  this  eulogy.  Everett,  hav 
ing  finished  the  cutting  of  his  nails,  was  examining  his 


32  THE   COMMON   LOT 

shoes.  He  might  be  thinking  of  the  price  of  steel  billets 
in  Liverpool,  or  he  might  be  thinking  that  Hollister  was 
an  ass,  —  no  one  could  tell. 

"He  took  much  advice;  he  consulted  many  men, 
among  them  the  president  of  a  great  Eastern  university. 
And  here  in  this  document "  —  Hollister  took  up  the 
will  —  "  he  embodied  the  results,  —  his  purpose  ! " 

At  this  point  in  the  architect's  confused  memory  of 
the  fateful  scene  there  was  a  red  spot  of  consciousness. 
The  man  of  affairs,  looking  straight  at  him,  seemingly, 
announced  :  — 

"  Powers  Jackson  left  the  bulk  of  his  large  fortune  in 
trust  with  the  purpose  of  founding  a  great  school  for  the 
children  of  workingmen ! " 

There  ensued  a  brief  pause.  Hart  did  not  comprehend 
at  once  the  full  significance  of  what  had  been  said.  But 
as  the  others  made  no  remark,  he  did  not  venture  to  ask 
questions,  and  so  Hollister  asked  the  lawyer  to  read  the 
will,  clause  by  clause. 

It  was  a  brief  document,  considering  the  importance  of 
its  contents.  There  was  an  item,  Jackson  recalled  after 
ward,  leaving  the  old  family  farm  at  Vernon  Falls  in 
Vermont  to  "  my  dear  young  friend,  Helen  Powers  Spell- 
man,  because  she  will  love  it  for  my  sake  as  well  as  for 
itself."  And  to  this  bequest  was  added  a  few  thousand 
dollars  as  a  maintenance  fund. 

He  might  have  treated  her  more  generously,  it 
occurred  to  the  architect  vaguely,  valuing  in  his  own 
mind  the  old  place  as  naught. 


THE   COMMON   L,OT  33 

"  To  my  nephew,  Francis  Jackson  Hart,  ten  thousand 
dollars  in  the  following  securities.  .  .  ." 

This  he  grasped  immediately.  So,  that  was  his  figure ! 
He  scarcely  noted  the  next  clause,  which  gave  to  his 
mother  the  Ohio  Street  house  with  a  liberal  income  from 
the  estate  for  her  life.  He  waited  for  the  larger  bequests 
which  must  come,  and  for  the  disposition  of  the  residue. 
Suddenly  Hollister  remarked  with  a  little  upward  in 
flection  of  satisfaction :  — 

"  Now  we  are  coming  to  the  core  of  the  apple ! " 

Slowly,  deliberately,  the  lawyer  read  on :  — 

"  Being  desirous  that  the  larger  part  of  whatever 
wealth  I  may  die  possessed  of  may  be  made  of  immediate 
and  wide  benefit  to  mankind,  I  do  give  and  bequeath  the 
residue  of  my  estate  to  Judge  Harrison  Phillips,  Everett 
Wheeler,  and  Mark  Kingsford  Hollister,  and  such  others 
as  they  may  associate  with  them,  in  trust,  nevertheless, 
for  the  following  described  purposes.  .  .  .  Said  fund 
and  its  accumulations  to  be  devoted  to  the  founding  and 
maintenance  of  a  school  or  institution  for  the  purpose  of 
providing  an  education,  industrial  and  technical,  as  said 
trustees  may  deem  best,  for  the  children  of  workingmen, 
of  the  city  of  .Chicago." 

"That,"  exclaimed  Hollister  triumphantly,  "is  Powers 
Jackson's  gift  to  mankind ! " 

There  were  a  few  more  sentences  to  the  will,  elaborat 
ing  slightly  the  donor's  design,  providing  for  liberal  pay 
ments  to  the  executors  for  their  services,  and  reserving 
certain  portions  of  the  estate  for  endowment  purposes 
only.  Yet,  as  a  whole,  the  document  was  singularly 


34  THE   COMMON   LOT 

simple,  almost  bare  in  its  disposition  of  a  very  large 
amount  of  money.  It  reposed  a  great  trust  in  the  men 
selected  to  carry  out  the  design,  in  their  will  and  in 
telligence.  Doubtless  the  old  man  had  taken  Hollister, 
at  least,  into  his  confidence,  and  had  contented  himself 
with  giving  him  verbal  and  general  directions,  knowing 
full  well  the  fate  of  elaborately  conceived  and  legally 
specified  bequests.  The  wise  old  man  seemed  to  have 
contented  himself  with  outlining  broadly,  though  plainly 
enough,  his  large  intention. 

"  That's  a  pretty  shaky  piece  of  work,  that  instrument," 
Everett  observed,  narrowing  his  eyes  to  a  thin  slit.  "He 
didn't  get  me  to  draw  it  up,  let  me  tell  you.  It's  queer 
the  old  man  was  willing  to  trust  his  pile  to  such  a  loosely 
worded  document." 

"Fortunately,"  Judge  Phillips  hastened  to  add,  "in 
this  case  we  may  hope  that  will  make  no  difference." 

There  was  an  awkward  pause,  and  then  the  lawyer  re 
plied  drawlingly :  — 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  there'll  be  any  trouble.  I  don't 
see  why  there  should  be  any,  unless  Hart  objects." 

Jackson  felt  dimly  that  here  w'as  his  chance  to  protest, 
to  object  to  Everett's  calm  acceptance  of  the  will.  But  a 
certain  shame,  or  diffidence,  restrained  him  at  the  moment 
from  showing  these  men  that  he  felt  injured  by  his  uncle's 
will.  He  said  nothing,  and  Hollister  began  to  talk  of 
the  projected  school.  It  was  to  be  something  new,  the 
architect  gathered,  not  exactly  like  any  other  attempt  in 
education  in  our  country,  and  it  would  take  time  to  per 
fect  the  details  of  the  plan.  There  was  no  need  for  haste. 


THE   COMMON   LOT  35 

"We  must  build  for  generations  when  we  do  start," 
Hollister  said.  "  And  the  other  trustees  agree  with  me 
that  this  is  not  the  most  opportune  time  for  converting 
the  estate  into  ready  money." 

"  It  will  pretty  nearly  double  the  next  five  years,"  the 
judge  observed  authoritatively. 

"At  the  present,  as  closely  as  we  can  estimate  it,  there 
is  available  for  the  purposes  of  the  trust  a  little  over  three 
millions  of  dollars,"  Hollister  stated. 

Over  three  millions !  Jackson  Hart  started  in  his  chair. 
He  had  had  no  idea  that  his  uncle  was  worth  anything  like 
that  amount.  And  these  shrewd  men  thought  it  would 
probably  double  during  the  next  five  years  !  Well,  so  far 
as  he  was  concerned  it  might  be  three  cents.  Possibly 
Everett  would  get  a  few  dollars  out  of  it  as  trustee.  He 
had  already  shared  in  some  of  the  old  man's  plums,  Hart 
reflected  bitterly.  When  the  trustees  began  to  discuss 
among  themselves  some  detail  of  the  management  of  the 
real  estate  involved,  the  young  architect  made  an  excuse 
of  a  business  engagement  and  slipped  away.  Just  as  he 
reached  the  door,  Everett  called  out :  — 

"We'll  send  the  will  over  for  probate  to-morrow.  If 
there's  no  hitch,  the  legacies  will  be  paid  at  once.  I'll  be 
over  to  see  your  mother  very  soon  and  arrange  for  the 
payment  of  her  annuity." 

Jackson  nodded.  He  did  not  like  to  trust  his  voice. 
He  knew  that  it  was  very  dry.  Somehow  he  found  him 
self- in  the  elevator  herded  in  a  cage  of  office  boys  and 
clerks  on  their  way  home,  sweating  and  dirty  from  a  long 
day's  work.  At  the  street  level  he  bought  a  newspaper, 


36  THE   COMMON   LOT 

and  the  first  thing  that  caught  his  eye  in  its  damp  folds 
were  the  headlines  :  — 

JACKSON'S  MILLIONS   GO  TO  EDUCATION 

THE    STEEL    MAGNATE'S    MONEY    WILL    FOUND    INDUSTRIAL    SCHOOL 

Hart  crumpled  up  the  sheet  and  threw  it  into  the  gut 
ter.  The  first  intelligible  feeling  that  he  had  over  his 
situation  was  a  sort  of  shame  that  his  uncle  should  have 
held  him  so  cheap.  For  so  he  interpreted  the  gift  of  ten 
thousand  dollars  !  And  he  began,  unconsciously,  to  try  in 
his  mind  the  case  between  himself  and  his  uncle.  He 
had  always  been  led  to  believe  that  he  was  the  most  fav 
ored  of  all  the  old  man's  dependents.  Surely  he  had 
been  treated  like  a  son,  and  he  was  not  aware  that  he  had 
ever  been  ungrateful  or  unworthy.  Now,  without  having 
committed  any  piece  of  public  folly,  he  was  made  a  thing 
of  pity  and  contempt  before  his  friends  ! 

He  resented  the  old  man's  kindness,  now  that  he  knew 
where  it  ended.  Very  swiftly  ,he  began  to  realize  what  it 
would  mean  to  him  to  be  without  this  fortune  on  which 
he  had  so  confidently  calculated.  He  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  move  to  New  York,  where  some  of  his  friends 
had  started  prosperously  and  had  invited  him  to  join 
them.  And  there  was  Helen,  whom  he  had  come  to 
love  in  the  past  year.  Marriage  was  now,  apparently, 
out  of  the  question  for  him,  unless  he  could  earn  more 
money  than  Wright  thought  he  was  worth.  For  Helen 
no  more  than  he  had  been  favored  by  his  uncle.  Even 


THE  COMMON  LOT  37 

Helen,  whom  the  old  man  had  made  so  much  of,  had  been 
left  with  little  more  than  a  stony  farm !  .  .  . 

Thus  he  ploughed  his  way  down  the  murky  street  in 
the  direction  of  the  north  side  bridge.  The  gloom  of  a 
foggy  spring  evening  was  added  to  the  smoke  and  grime 
of  the  careless  city.  The  architect  felt  dirty  and  uncom 
fortable,  and  he  knew  now  that  he  was  condemned  to 
struggle  on  in  this  unlovely  metropolis,  where  even  the 
baked  meats  of  life  were  flung  at  one  ungarnished. 

Two  solid  streams  of  black-dressed  humanity  were 
pressing  northward  over  the  narrow  footpaths  of  the 
State  Street  bridge.  Some  unit  in  the  throng  nudged 
the  architect's  elbow. 

"Hello,  Jack  Hart!"  a  man  yelped  at  him,  scowling 
from  under  his  black  pot  hat.  "  Going  my  way  ?  " 

Jackson  grumbled  a  short  assent.  He  did  not  care  to 
meet  Say  re  Coburn  at  this  juncture  in  his  life.  Coburn 
had  been  a  half-starved  medical  student  at  Cornell,  work 
ing  his  way  as  a  janitor  in  the  chemical  laboratory.  He 
had  been  obliged  to  drop  out  before  the  struggle  was 
quite  over,  and  had  gone  somewhere  else  to  finish 
his  medical  work.  Lately  he  had  landed  in  Chicago 
and  opened  an  office  without  knowing  a  soul  in  the 
city  beyond  the  architect  and  a  few  other  Cornell  men, 
whom  he  had  not  sought  out. 

Hart  knew  that  the  doctor  walked  to  save  car  fare, 
and  subsisted  on  meal  tickets  at  indifferent  restaurants. 
When  he  had  met  the  man  before  he  had  been  inclined 
to  patronize  him.  Now  he  looked  at  the  dirty  collar,  the 
frayed  and  baggy  trousers,  the  wolfish  hunch  to  the 


88  THE  COMMON  LOT 

shoulders,  and  he  knew  instinctively  that  these  marks 
came  from  the  fight  in  its  elementary  form,  —  from  that 
beast-tussle  to  snatch  a  dollar  that  some  other  man  wants 
to  get  from  you  ! 

That  same  hard  game,  to  which  his  uncle  had  just  con 
demned  him,  gave  Coburn  his  bad  manners,  his  hit-you- 
in-the-face  style  of  address,  his  vulgar,  yelping  speech. 
He  suspected  that  Coburn  had  gone  without  clothes  and 
tobacco  to  feed  a  lot  of  guinea-pigs  and  rabbits  on  which 
he  was  making  experiments.  But  Dr.  Coburn  told  you 
all  that  in  his  harsh,  boring  voice,  just  as  he  told  you 
that  your  right  shoulder  was  dragging,  or  your  left  leg 
was  short,  or  any  other  disagreeable  fact.  . 

"  So  the  old  man's  money  goes  to  start  a  school  ? " 
Coburn  asked,  his  firm  lips  wreathing  into  a  slight  grin. 
"  That  rather  cuts  you  out,  don't  it  ?  Or,  maybe,  you 
and  he  had  some  kind  of  a  deal  so  that  all  the  money 
don't  have  to  be  assessed  for  inheritance  taxes  ?  That's 
the  usual  way  nowadays." 

"There's  no  arrangement,"  Hart  answered  shortly. 
"  I  had  no  claim  on  my  uncle's  money." 

The  smiling  doctor  looked  at  him  sideways  for  a 
moment,  examining  the  man  drolly,  without  malice. 

"  Well,  you  wouldn't  have  turned  it  down,  if  it  had 
been  passed  up  to  you  on  a  silver  dish  ?  Hey  ?  God, 
I'd  like  to  get  a  show  at  some  loose  cash.  Then  I  could 
build  a  first-class  laboratory  and  keep  all  the  animals  I 
want,  instead  of  slopping  around  here  selling  pills  and 
guff  to  old  women !  But  these  philanthropic  millionnaires 
don't  seem  te>  favor  medicine  much." 


THE   COMMON  LOT  39 

He  thrust  out  his  heavy  under  lip  at  the  world  in  a 
brutal,  defiant  manner,  and  swung  his  little  black  bag  as 
though  he  would  like  to  brain  some  rich  passer-by.  His 
was  a  handsome  face,  with  firm,  straight  lines,  a  thick 
black  mustache,  and  clear  eyes,  deep  set.  But  it  was  a 
face  torn  and  macerated  by  the  hunger  of  unappeased 
desires, — unselfish  and  honorable  desires,  however ;  a  face 
that  thinly  covered  a  fuming  crater  beneath.  When  life 
treated  this  man  rudely,  he  would  fight  back,  and  he 
would  win  against  odds.  But  as  the  architect  saw  him, 
he  was  a  tough,  unlovely  specimen. 

"  I  suppose  any  one  would  like  to  have  money,"  Hart 
answered  vaguely.  Then  feeling  that  the  doctor's 
company  was  intolerable,  he  turned  down  a  side  street, 
calling  out,  "So  long,  Coburn." 

The  doctor's  face  betrayed  a  not  wholly  sympathetic 
amusement  when  his  companion  left  him  in  this  abrupt 
manner. 

When  Jackson  entered  the  house,  his  uncle's  old  home, 
his  mother  was  sitting  by  the  library  table  reading,  just 
as  she  had  sat  and  read  at  this  hour  for  the  past  twenty 
years.  Powers  Jackson  had  carefully  made  such  provi 
sion  for  her  as  would  enable  her  to  continue  this  habit 
as  long  as  she  might  live.  She  called  to  her  son :  — 

"  You're  late,  son.     Supper's  on  the  table." 

"Don't  wait  for  me,"  he  answered  dully,  going  up 
stairs  to  his  room. 

When  he  joined  his  mother  at  the  supper-table,  his 
mustache  was  brushed  upwards  in  a  confident  wave,  and 


40  THE   COMMON   LOT 

his  face,  though  serious,  was  not  blackened  by  soot  and 
care. 

"  Did  you  see  Everett  ?  "  Mrs.  Hart  asked  suggestively. 

Jackson  told  her  in  a  few  words  the  event  of  the  after 
noon,  recounting  the  chief  provisions  of  the  will  as  he 
remembered  them.  For  some  moments  she  said  nothing. 
Then  she  remarked,  with  a  note  of  annoyance  in  her 
voice :  — 

"Powers  was  always  bound  I  sh'd  never  leave  this 
house  except  to  follow  him  to  Rose  Hill.  And  he's  fixed 
it  so  now  I  can't !  I  could  never  make  him  see  how  sooty 
it  was  here.  We  have  to  wash  the  curtains  and  things 
once  a  fortnight,  and  then  they  ain't  fit  to  be  seen  half 
the  time." 

Her  son,  who  thought  that  he  had  his  own  grievances 
against  his  uncle,  made  no  reply  to  this  complaint.  Be 
fore  they  had  finished  their  meal,  Mrs.  Hart  added :  — 

"  He  might  have  done  more  for  you,  too,  seeing  what 
a  sight  of  money  he  left." 

"  Yes,  he  might  have  done  it !  But  you  see  he  didn't 
choose  to.  And  I  guess  the  best  thing  we  can  do  under 
the  circumstances  is  to  say  as  little  as  possible  about  the 
will.  That  is,  unless  we  decide  to  fight  it." 

He  threw  this  out  tentatively.  It  had  not  occurred  to 
him  to  contest  the  will  until  that  moment.  Then  he 
thought  suddenly,  "  Why  should  I  stand  it  ?  " 

But  Mrs.  Hart,  who  had  never  opposed  her  brother  in 
all  her  life,  exclaimed  :  — 

"You  couldn't  do  that,  Jackson!  I  am  sure  Powers 
wouldn't  like  it." 


THE   COMMON   LOT  41 

"Probably  not,"  the  young  man  replied  ironically. 
"  But  it  isn't  his  money  any  longer ! " 

It  occurred  to  him  soon,  however,  that  by  this  act  he 
would  endanger  his  mother's  comfortable  inheritance, 
besides  estranging  his  cousin  Everett  and  all  the  old 
man's  friends.  To  contest  the  will  would  be  a  risk  and, 
moreover,  would  be  ungrateful,  petty.  It  was  a  matter  at 
any  rate  upon  which  he  should  have  to  take  the  best  of 
advice.  When  he  spoke  again  at  the  end  of  their  sup 
per,  he  said  impartially :  — 

"I  am  glad  you  are  comfortably  looked  out  for, 
though  I  hope  I  should  always  be  able  to  give  you  a 
home,  anyway.  And  we  must  remember  that  uncle  gave 
me  my  education  and  my  three  years  in  Paris,  and  I  sup 
pose  that  after  that  he  thought  ten  thousand  dollars  was 
all  that  I  was  worth,  —  or  could  take  care  of." 

He  said  this,  standing  in  front  of  the  heavy  black-wal 
nut  sideboard  which  he  abhorred,  while  he  lit  a  cigarette. 
As  he  spoke  he  felt  that  he  was  taking  his  injury  in  a 
manly  way,  although  he  still  reserved  to  himself  the 
right  to  seek  relief  from  the  courts. 

And  in  the  deeper  reaches  of  his  being  there  lay  a 
bitter  sense  of  resentment,  a  desire  to  make  the  world 
pay  him  in  some  manner  for  his  disappointment.  If  he 
had  to,  he  would  show  people  that  he  could  make  his  own 
way ;  that  he  was  more  than  the  weakling  his  uncle  had 
contemptuously  overlooked  in  the  disposal  of  his  prop 
erty.  He  should  rise  in  his  profession,  make  money, 
and  prove  to  the  world  that  he  could  swim  without  Powers 
Jackson's  millions. 


42  THE   COMMON   LOT 

Oddly  enough,  as  he  stood  there  smoking,  his  eyes 
narrowed,  his  handsome  face  hardened  into  something 
like  the  stocky  doctor's  bull-dog  expression.  The  rough, 
brute  man  in  him  thrust  itself  to  the  surface ! 

"  What  kind  of  a  school  are  they  going  to  start  with 
all  that  money  ?  "  Mrs.  Hart  asked,  as  she  seated  herself 
for  the  evening. 

"Oh,  something  technical.  For  sons  of  mechanics,  a 
kind  of  mechanics'  institute,  I  should  say." 

He  thought  of  some  of  the  old  man's  caustic  remarks 
about  charities,  and  added  :  — 

"Wanted  to  make  good  before  he  quit,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Will  you  have  to  stay  on  with  that  firm  ? "  Mrs. 
Hart  asked,  taking  up  Lanciani's  "  Pagan  and  Christian 
Borne." 

"  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  for  a  time,"  answered  Jackson, 
gloomily.  .  .  . 

Thus  these  two  accepted  the  dead  man's  will.  Powers 
Jackson  had  come  to  his  decision  after  long  deliberation, 
judging  that  toward  all  who  might  have  claims  of  any 
kind  upon  him  he  had  acted  justly  and  generously.  He 
had  studied  these  people  about  him  for  a  long  time. 
With  Everett,  who  was  only  distantly  related  to  him, 
he  had  acquitted  himself  years  before,  when  he  had  put 
it  in  the  young  man's  way  to  make  money  in  his  profes 
sion,  to  kill  his  prey  for  himself.  Jackson,  he  deemed, 
would  get  most  out  of  the  fight  of  life  by  making  the 
struggle,  as  he  had  made  it  himself,  unaided.  As  for 
Helen,  he  had  given  the  girl  what  was  most  intimately 


THE  COMMON   LOT  43 

his,  and  what  would  do  her  the  least  harm  by  attracting 
to  her  the  attention  of  the  unscrupulous  world.  There 
remained  what  might  be  called  his  general  account  with 
the  world,  and  at  the  end  he  had  sought  to  settle  this,  the 
largest  of  all. 

Powers  Jackson  had  not  been  a  good  man,  as  has  been 
hinted,  but  that  he  took  his  responsibilities  to  heart  and 
struggled  to  meet  them  there  can  be  no  doubt.  Whether 
or  not  he  had  chosen  the  best  way  to  settle  this  account 
with  the  world,  by  trying  to  help  those  to  live  who  were 
unfavored  by  birth,  cannot  be  easily  answered.  Conceiv 
ing  it  to  be  his  inalienable  right  to  do  with  his  money 
what  he  would,  after  death  as  in  life,  he  had  tried  to  do 
something  large  and  wise  with  it.  Thus  far,  he  had  suc 
ceeded  in  embittering  his  nephew. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  next  morning  Jackson  Hart  was  once  more  bending 
over  the  large  sheets  of  the  plans  for  the  Denver  hotel. 
Now  that  he  knew  his  fate,  the  draughting-room  under 
the  great  skylights  of  the  Maramanoc  Building  seemed 
like  a  prison  indeed.  The  men  in  the  qffice,  he  felt  sure, 
had  read  all  about  the  will,  and  had  had  their  say  upon 
his  private  affairs  before  he  had  come  in.  He  could  tell 
that  from  the  additional  nonchalance  in  the  manner  of  the 
head  draughtsman,  Cook,  when  he  nodded  to  him  on  his 
way  to  the  cubby-hole  where  he  worked.  Early  in  the 
afternoon  a  welcome  interruption  came  to  him  in  the 
shape  of  an  urgent  call  from  the  electricians  working  on 
the  Canostota  apartment  house  on  the  South  Side.  The 
head  of  the  office  asked  Hart  to  go  to  the  Canostota  and 
straighten  the  men  out,  as  Harmon,  their  engineer,  was 
at  home  ill. 

As  Jackson  crossed  the  street  to  take  the  elevated  train 
he  met  his  cousin.  They  walked  together  to  the  station, 
and  as  Wheeler  was  turning  away,  the  architect  broke 
out :  — 

"  I've  been  thinking  over  uncle's  will.  I  can't  say  I 
think  it  was  fair,  —  to  treat  me  like  that  after  —  after  all 
these  years." 

44 


THE  COMMON  LOT  45 

The  lawyer  smiled  coldly. 

"  I  didn't  get  much,  either,"  he  remarked. 

"Well,  that  don't  make  it  any  better;  besides,  you 
have  had  as  good  as  money  from  him  long  ago.  Your 
position  and  mine  aren't  just  the  same." 

"  No,  that's  so,"  the  lawyer  admitted.  "  But  what  are 
you  going  to  do  about  it  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  yet.  I  want  to  think  it  over.  How 
long"  —  he  hesitated  before  finishing  his  thought. 

"  How  long  have  you  to  give  notice  you  want  to  con 
test  ?  About  three  weeks,"  Wheeler  replied  coolly. 
"  Of  course  you  know  that  if  you  fight  you'll  put  your 
mother's  legacy  in  danger.  And  I  rather  guess  Hollister 
and  the  judge  wouldn't  compromise." 

"  And  you  ?  " 

Wheeler  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  I  should  stick  with  the  others." 

Then  Wheeler  nodded  and  was  off  down  the  street. 
He  did  not  appear  to  be  surprised  or  disturbed  by  what 
his  cousin  had  told  him.  Hart,  pondering  the  matter  in 
perplexity,  continued  on  his  way  to  the  Canostota.  There 
he  found  the  foreman  for  the  electrical  contractor,  and 
spent  a  busy  hour  explaining  to  the  man  the  intricacies 
of  the  office  blue  prints.  Then  the  steam-fitter  got  hold  of 
him,  and  it  was  nearly  five  o'clock  before  he  had  time  to 
think  of  himself  or  his  own  affairs.  As  he  emerged  from 
the  basement  by  a  hole  left  in  the  floor  for  the  plumbers 
and  steam-fitters  to  run  their  pipes  through,  he  noticed  a 
space  where  a  section  of  the  fireproof  partition  had  been 
accidentally  knocked  out.  Through  this  hole  he  could 


46  THE   COMMON  LOT 

see  one  of  the  steel  I-beams  that  supported  the  flooring 
above,  where  it  had  been  drilled  to  admit  the  passing  of 
a  steam  pipe.  Something  unusual  in  the  appearance  of 
the  metal  caught  his  eye,  and  he  paused  where  he  was, 
halfway  out  of  the  basement,  to  look  at  it  again.  The 
I-beam  seemed  unaccountably  thin  and  slight.  He  felt 
in  his  pocket  for  a  small  rule  that  he  usually  carried 
with  him.  He  was  not  quite  familiar,  even  yet,  with  the 
material  side  of  building  in  America ;  but  he  knew  in  a 
general  way  the  weights  and  thicknesses  of  steel  beams 
that  were  ordinarily  specified  in  Wright's  office  for  build 
ings  of  this  size. 

"  How's  this,  Davidson  ? "  he  asked  the  steam-fitter, 
who  was  close  at  his  heels.  "  Isn't  that  a  pretty  light 
fifteen-inch  I-beam  ?  " 

The  workman  looked  absolutely  blank. 

"  I  dunno.     I  expect  it's  what's  called  for." 

Even  if  the  man  had  known  that  something  was  wrong 
about  the  steel,  he  would  have  said  nothing.  It  was  silly 
to  ask  a  subcontractor  to  give  evidence  damaging  to  his 
employer.  The  architect  stooped  and  asked  the  man  to 
hand  him  his  calipers.  As  he  was  trying  to  measure 
the  section  of  steel,  he  saw  a  man's  face  looking  down  'at 
him  from  the  floor  above.  Presently  a  burly  form  ap 
peared  in  the  opening,  and  Jackson  recognized  Graves, 
who  was  the  general  contractor  for  the  building. 

"  We  haven't  begun  to  patch  up  the  tile  yet,"  the  con 
tractor  observed,  nodding  to  the  architect.  "  We  thought 
we'd  leave  it  open  here  and  there  until  Mr.  Harmon 
could  get  around  and  look  into  things.  I'm  expecting 


THE   COMMON   LOT  47 

Mr.  Wright  will    be   out   here  the  first  of    the  week, 
too." 

The  contractor  talked  slowly,  without  taking  his  eyes 
from  Hart.  He  was  a  large,  full-bearded  man,  with  a 
manner  self-confident  or  assuming,  as  one  chose  to  take 
it.  Hart  was  always  at  a  loss  how  to  treat  a  man  like 
Graves,  —  whether  as  a  kind  of  upper  workman  to  be 
ordered  about,  or  as  a  social  equal. 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  non-committal  tone.  "  Mr. 
Harmon  hasn't  been  out  here  much  of  late  ?" 

"  No,  sir.  It  must  be  three  weeks  or  more  since  Mr. 
Harmon  was  here  last.  He's  been  sick  that  long, 
ain't  he  ?  " 

The  steam-fitter  had  slipped  away.  Hart  had  it  on  his 
lips  to  ask  the  contractor  to  show  him  the  specifications 
for  the  steel  work,  but  he  was  not  sure  that  this  was  the 
proper  method  of  procedure.  Graves  kept  his  cool  gray 
eyes  fastened  on  the  young  architect,  while  he  said :  — 

"  That's  why  I've  been  keeping  things  back,  so  as  Mr. 
Wright  could  satisfy  himself  that  everything  was  all 
right.  A  terribly  particular  man,  that  Mr.  Wright.  If 
you  can  please  him ! " 

He  was  studying  the  young  man  before  him,  and  very 
ably  supplying  answers  to  the  architect's  doubts  before 
he  could  express  them.  The  contractor  did  not  pause  to 
give  Hart  time  to  think,  but  kept  his  stream  of  slow,  con 
fident  words  flowing  over  the  architect. 

„"  You  fellows  give  us  a  lot  of  bother.  Now  take  that 
tile.  Mr.  Wright  specifies  Caper's  A  1,  which  happens  to 
be  out  of  the  market  just  now.  To  please  him  I  sent  to 


48  THE  COMMON    LOT 

Cleveland  and  Buffalo  for  some  odds  and  ends  they  had 
down  there.  But  there  are  a  dozen  makes  just  as  good ! " 

He  spoke  like  a  man  who  did  always  a  little  more  than 
his  duty.  Although  the  architect  was  conscious  of  the 
skilful  manner  in  which  his  attention  was  being  switched 
from  the  steel  beams,  he  felt  inclined  to  trust  the  man 
and  judged  his  suspicions  to  be  ill-timed. 

Graves  was  not  one  of  the  larger  contractors  employed 
on  the  firm's  buildings.  He  had  worked  up  from  small 
beginnings  as  a  master  mason,  and  Wright,  having  used  him 
on  several  little  commissions,  had  always  found  him  eager 
to  do  his  best.  This  was  the  first  job  of  any  considerable 
size  that  Graves  had  done  for  the  firm,  and  he  had  got 
this  by  under-bidding  considerably  all  the  other  general 
contractors  who  had  been  invited  to  bid  on  the  work. 
These  facts  Hart  did  not  happen  to  know. 

"  Are  you  going  north,  Mr.  Hart  ?  "  Graves  asked,  as 
they  turned  to  the  street  entrance.  "  My  team  is  just 
outside.  Shall  be  pleased  to  give  you  a  lift." 

Speaking  thus  he  ushered  the  architect  from  the  Can- 
ostota  where  the  dusk  was  already  falling.  The  building 
rose  sheer  and  massive,  six  stories  above  their  heads,  with 
rows  of  unglassed  windows  like  sightless  eyes.  Jackson 
looked  up  at  it  critically,  admitting  to  himself  frankly 
Wright's  ability  and  restrained  taste.  This  apartment 
building  stood  out  from  its  vulgar  neighbors  with  a  kind 
of  aristocratic  distinction  that  called  the  passer-by  to 
admire  its  frugal  plainness. 

The  contractor's  horse  was  a  nervous,  fast  little  beast. 
The  light  runabout  whirled  into  the  broad  avenue  of 


THE   COMMON   LOT  49 

Grand  Boulevard,  and  there  Graves  let  the  animal  out 
for  a  couple  of  blocks.  A  thin  smile  of  satisfaction 
wrinkled  the  contractor's  bearded  lips.  Then  he  pulled 
on  the  reins,  and  turned  in  his  seat  to  face  the  architect. 

"  I'm  glad  of  this  chance  to  get  acquainted  with  you, 
Mr.  Hart, "  he  began  pleasantly.  "  I  have  been  thinking 
lately  that  we  might  be  of  some  use  to  each  other." 

He  paused  to  let  his  words  sink  into  his  companion's 
mind.  Then  he  resumed  in  a  reflective  manner :  — 

"I  ain't  content  to  build  just  for  other  folks.  I  want 
to  put  up  something  on  my  own  account.  Oh,  nothing 
like  as  fine  as  that  Canostota,  but  something  pretty  and 
attractive,  and  a  building  that  will  pay  good.  I've  just 
the  lot  for  it,  out  south  alongside  Washington  Park.  It's 
a  peach !  A  corner  and  two  hundred  feet.  Say !  Why 
won't  you  come  out  right  now  and  have  a  look  at  it? 
Can  you  spare  the  time  ?  Good." 

The  little  runabout  whisked  around,  and  they  went 
speeding  south  over  the  hard  boulevard. 

"Now's  about  the  time  to  build.  I've  owned  the 
property  ever  since  the  slump  in  real  estate  right  after 
the  fair.  Well,  I  want  an  architect  on  my  own  account ! 
I  suppose  I  could  go  to  one  of  those  Jews  who  sell  their 
dinky  little  blue  prints  by  the  yard.  Most  of  the  flat  build 
ings  hereabouts  come  that  way.  But  I  want  something 
swell.  That's  going  to  be  a  fine  section  of  the  city  soon, 
and  looks  count  in  a  building,  as  elsewhere." 

Hart  laughed  at  this  cordial  testimony  to  his  art. 

"  There's  your  boss,  Wright.  But  he's  too  high-toned 
for  me, — wouldn't  look  at  anything  that  toted  up  less 


50  THE  COMMON   LOT 

than  the  six  figures.  And  I  guess  he  don't  do  much  de 
signing  himself.  He  leaves  that  to  you  young  fellows, 
don't  he?" 

Hart  could  see,  now,  the  idea  that  was  in  the  contrac 
tor's  mind,  and  his  interest  grew.  They  pulled  up  near 
the  south  corner  of  the  Park,  beside  some  vacant  land. 
It  was,  as  Graves  said,  a  very  favorable  spot  for  a  showy 
apartment  building. 

"I  want  something  real  handsome,"  the  contractor 
continued.  "  It'll  be  a  high-priced  building.  And  I  think 

* 

you  are  the  man  to  do  it." 

Graves  brought  this  out  like  a  shot. 

"Why,  I  should  like  to  think  of  it,"  the  architect 
began  conventionally,  not  sure  what  he  ought  to 
say. 

"  Yes,  you're  the  man.  I  saw  the  plans  for  that 
Aurora  church  one  day  while  I  was  waiting  to  talk  with 
Mr.  Wright,  and  I  said  to  myself  then,  *  There's  the  man 
to  draw  my  plans  when  I  get  ready  to  build.  The  feller 
that  designed  that  church  has  got  something  out  of  the 
ordinary  in  him  !  He's  got  style  ! ' " 

Praise,  even  from  the  mob,  is  honey  to  the  artist. 
Jackson  instinctively  thought  better  of  the  self-confident 
contractor,  and  decided  that  he  was  a  bluff,  honest  man, 
—  common,  but  well  meaning. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say,  Mr.  Hart  ?  " 

It  ended  with  Hart's  practically  agreeing  to  prepare 
a  preliminary  sketch.  When  it  came  to  the  matter  of 
business,  the  young  architect  found  that,  notwithstanding 


THE   COMMON  LOT  51 

the  contractor's  high  consideration  of  his  talent,  he  was 
willing  to  offer  only  the  very  lowest  terms  for  his  work. 
He  told  the  contractor,  however,  that  he  would  consider 
his  offer,  remarking  that  he  should  have  to  leave  Wright's 
office  before  undertaking  the  commission. 

"  But,"  he  said  with  a  sudden  rush  of  will,  "  I  was 
considering  starting  for  myself  very  soon,  anyway." 

It  was  not  until  after  the  contractor  had  dropped  him 
at  his  club  in  the  down-town  district  that  he  remembered 
the  steel  beams  in  the  Canostota.  Then  it  occurred  to 
him  that  possibly,  had  it  not  been  for  the  accident  which 
had  brought  Graves  to  that  part  of  the  building  just  as 
he  was  on  his  knees  trying  to  measure  the  thickness  of 
the  metal,  the  contractor  might  not  have  discovered  his 
great  talent.  As  he  entered  the  club  washroom,  the 
disagreeable  thought  came  to  him  that,  if  the  I-beams 
were  not  right,  Graves  had  rather  cleverly  closed  his 
mouth  about  the  Canostota.  In  agreeing  to  do  a  piece 
of  work  for  Wright's  contractor,  he  had  placed  himself 
where  he  could  not  easily  get  that  contractor  into 
trouble  with  his  present  employer. 

As  he  washed  his  hands,  scrubbing  them  as  if  they 
had  been  pieces  of  wood  in  order  to  remove  the  after 
noon's  dirt,  he  felt  that  there  was  more  than  one  kind  of 
grime  in  the  city. 


THERE  were  very  few  men  to  be  found  in  the  club 
at  this  hour.  The  dingy  library,  buzzing  like  a  beehive 
at  noon  with  young  men,  was  empty  now  except  for 
a  stranger  who  was  whiling  away  his  time  before  a 
dinner  engagement.  Most  of  the  men  that  the  archi 
tect  met  at  this  club  were,  like  himself,  younger  mem 
bers  of  the  professions,  struggling  upward  in  the  crowded 
ranks  of  law,  medicine,  architecture.  Others  were  em 
ployed  in  brokers'  offices,  or  engaged  in  general  business. 
Some  of  them  had  been  his  classmates  in  Cornell,  or  in 
the  technological  school,  and  these  had  welcomed  him 
with  a  little  dinner  on  his  return  from  Paris. 

After  that  cheerful  reunion  he  had  seen  less  of  these 
old  friends  than  he  had  hoped  to  when  he  had  contem 
plated  Chicago  from  his  Paris  apartment.  Perhaps  there 
had  been  something  of  envy  among  them  for  Jackson 
Hart.  Things  had  seemed  very  pleasantly  shaped  for 
him,  and  Chicago  is  yet  a  community  that  resents  special 
favors. 

Every  one  was  driving  himself  at  top  speed.  At  noon 
the  men  fell  together  about  the  same  table  in  the  grill 
room, —  worried,  fagged,  preoccupied.  As  soon  as  the 
day's  work  was  over,  their  natural  instinct  was  to  flee 

52 


THE   COMMON   LOT  53 

from  the  dirt  and  noise  of  the  business  street,  where 
the  club  was  situated,  to  the  cleaner  quarters  north  or 
south,  or  to  the  semi-rural  suburbs.  Thus  the  centrifugal 
force  of  the  city  was  irresistible. 

To-night  there  were  a  number  of  young  men  in  the 
card-room,  sitting  over  a  game  of  poker,  which,  judging 
from  the  ash-trays  on  the  table,  had  been  in  progress 
since  luncheon.  Several  other  men,  with  hats  on  and 
coats  over  their  arms,  were  standing  about  the  table, 
looking  on. 

"  Well,  Jackie,  my  boy ! "  one  of  the  players  called 
out,  "  where  have  you  been  hiding  yourself  this  week  ?  " 

Ben  Harris,  the  man  who  hailed  the  architect,  had 
apparently  been  drinking  a  good  deal.  The  other  men 
at  the  table  called  out  sharply,  "  Shut  up,  Ben.  Play ! " 

But  the  voluble  Harris,  whose  drink  had  made  him 
more  than  usually  impudent,  remarked  further:  — 

"  Say,  Jack !  ain't  you  learned  yet  that  we  don't  pat 
tern  after  the  German  Emperor  here  in  Chicago  ?  Better 
comb  out  your  mustache,  or  they'll  be  taking  you  for 
some  foreign  guy." 

Hart  merely  turned  his  back  on  Harris,  and  listened 
with  exaggerated  interest  to  what  a  large,  heavy  man, 
with  a  boy's  smooth  face,  was  saying :  — 

"  He  was  of  no.  special  'count  in  college,  —  a  kind  of 
second-rate  hustler,  you  know.  But,  my  heavens !  Since 
he  struck  this  town,  he's  got  in  his  work.  I  don't  believe 
he"  knows  enough  law  to  last  him  over  night.  But  he 
knows  how  to  make  the  right  men  think  he  does.  He 
started  in  to  work  for  those  Selinas  Mills  people,  —  dam- 


54  THE    COMMON    LOT 

age  suits  and  collecting.  Here  in  less  than  five  yearb 
he's  drawing  the  papers  for  the  consolidation  of  all  the 
paper-mills  in  the  country ! " 

"  Who's  that,  Billy  ?  "  Hart  asked. 

"  Leverett,  Joe  Leverett.  He  was  Yale  '89,  and  at  the 
law  school  with  me." 

"  He  must  have  the  right  stuff  in  him,  all  the  same," 
commented  one  man. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that !  "  the  first  speaker  retorted. 
"  Some  kind  of  stuff,  of  course.  But  I  said  he  was  110 
lawyer,  and  never  will  be,  and  I  repeat  it.  And  what's 
more,  half  the  men  who  are  earning  the  big  money  in 
law  here  in  Chicago  don't  know  enough  law  to  try  a  case 
properly." 

"  That's  so,"  assented  one  man. 

"  Same  thing  in  medicine."  , 

"  Oh,  it's  the  same  all  over." 

The  men  about  the  card-table  launched  out  into  a 
heated  discussion  of  the  one  great  topic  of  modern  life  — 
Success.  The  game  of  poker  finally  closed,  and  the 
players  joined  in  the  conversation.  Fresh  drinks  were 
ordered,  and  cigars  were  passed  about.  The  theme 
caught  the  man  most  eager  to  go  home,  and  fired  the 
brain  most  fagged. 

"  The  pity  of  it,  too,"  said  the  large  man  called  Billy, 
dominating  the  room  with  his  deep  voice  and  deliber 
ate  speech,  —  "  the  pity  of  it  is  that  it  ruins  the  profes 
sions.  You  can  see  it  right  here  in  Chicago.  Who  cares 
for  fine  professional  work,  if  it  don't  bring  in  the  stuff  ? 
Yes,  look  at  our  courts !  look  at  our  doctors !  And  look 


THE   COMMON   LOT  55 

at  our  buildings  It's  money  every  time.  The  profes 
sions  have  been  commercialized." 

"  Oh,  Billy  ! "  exclaimed  Ben  Harris.  "  Is  this  a  com 
mencement  oration  you  are  giving  us  ?  " 

A  quiet  voice  broke  in  from  behind  the  circle :  — 

"There's  much  in  what  you  say,  Mr.  Blount.  Time 
has  been  when  it  meant  something  of  honor  for  a  man  to 
be  a  member  of  one  of  the  learned  professions.  Men  were 
content  to  take  part  of  their  pay  in  honor  and  respect  from 
the  community.  There's  no  denying  that's  all  changed 
now.  We  measure  everything  by  one  yardstick,  and 
that  is  money.  So  the  able  lawyer  and  the  able  doctor 
have  joined  the  race  with  the  mob  for  the  dollars.  But" 
—  his  eye  seemed  to  rest  on  the  young  architect,  who 
was  listening  attentively  —  "  that  state  of  affairs  can't  go 
on.  When  we  shake  down  in  this  modern  world  of  ours, 
and  have  got  used  to  our  wealth,  and  have  made  the 
right  adjustment  between  capital  and  labor, —  the  profes 
sions,  the  learned  professions,  will  be  elevated  once 
more.  Men  are  so  made  that  they  want  to  respect  some 
thing.  And  in  the  long  run  they  will  respect  learning, 
ideas,  and  devotion  to  the  public  welfare." 

The  speaker's  eye  seemed  to  challenge  the  young  archi 
tect,  who  listened  attentively,  without  thorough  convic 
tion.  Something  in  the  older  man  antagonized  Jackson's 
mood.  It  was  easy  enough  for  a  man  like  Pemberton 
with  an  assured  position  and  comfortable  means  to  take 
lofty  views ! 

"  That's  all  right,  Pemberton,"  Harris  retorted.  "  That's 
first-class  talk.  But  I  guess  I  see  about  as  much  of  human 


56  THE  COMMON  LOT 

nature  in  my  business  as  any  man,  and  I  tell  you,  it's 
only  human  nature  to  get  what  you  can  out  of  the 
game.  What  men  respect  in  this  town  is  money,  —  first, 
last,  and  all  the  time.  So  it's  only  natural  for  a  man, 
whether  he  is  a  lawyer  or  anything  else,  to  do  as  the 
other  Romans  do." 

Harris  brought  his  bony,  lined  hand  down  on  the  card- 
table  with  a  thump,  and  leaned  forward,  thrusting  out 
his  long,  unshaven  chin  at  the  older  man  who  had  spoken. 
His  black  hair,  which  was  thin  above  the  temples  and 
across  the  middle  of  his  head,  was  rumpled,  his  collar 
bent,  and  his  cuffs  blackened  about  the  edges.  Hart  had 
known  him  as  a  boy  twelve  years  before  at  the  South 
Side  High  School.  Thence  he  had  gone  to  a  state 
university  where  four  years  had  made  little  impression, 
at  least  externally,  on  his  raw  character,  and  then  he 
had  entered  a  broker's  office,  and  had  made  money  on  the 
Board  of  Trade.  Lately  it  had  been  reported  that  he 
was  losing  money  in  wheat. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  snarled  on,  having  suppressed  the  others 
for  the  moment.  "  It  don't  make  much  difference,  either, 
how  you  get  your  money  so  far  as  I  can  see.  Whether 
you  do  a  man  in  a  corner  in  wheat,  or  run  a  pool  room. 
All  is,  if  you  want  to  be  in  the  game,  you  must  have  the 
price  of  admission  about  you.  And  the  rest  is  talk  for 
the  ladies  and  the  young." 

Pemberton  replied  in  a  severe  tone :  — 

"  That  is  easy  to  say  and  easy  to  believe.  But  when  I 
think  of  the  magnificent  gift  to  the  public  just  made  by 
one  of  these  very  men  whom  you  would  consider  a  mere 


THE   COMMON  LOT  57 

money-grabber,  I  confess  I  am  obliged  to  doubt  your 
easy  analysis  of  our  modern  life  ! " 

Pernberton  spoke  with  a  kind  of  authority.  He  was 
one  of  the  older  men  of  the  club,  much  respected  in  the 
city,  and  perfectly  fearless.  But  the  broker,  also,  feared 
no  man's  opinion. 

"  Gifts  to  education ! "  sneered  Ben  Harris.  "  That's 
what  they  do  to  show  off  when  they're  through  with 
their  goods.  Anyway,  there's  too  much  education  going 
around.  It  don't  count.  The  only  thing  that  counts, 
to-day,  here,  now,  is  money.  Can  you  make  it  or  steal  it 
or  —  inherit  it!" 

He  looked  across  the  room  at  Jackson  Hart  and 
laughed.  The  architect  disliked  this  vulgar  reference  to 
his  own  situation,  but,  on  the  whole,  he  was  much  more 
inclined  to  agree  with  the  broker  than  he  would  have 
been  a  few  days  earlier. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  such  ideas  should  be  expressed  inside 
this  club,"  Pemberton  answered  gravely.  "If  there  is 
one  place  in  this  city  where  the  old  ideals  of  the  profes 
sions  should  be  reverenced,  where  men  should  deny  that 
cheap  philosophy  of  the  street,  by  their  acts  as  well  as 
by  their  words,  it  should  be  here  in  this  club." 

Some  of  the  others  in  the  group  nodded  their  approval 
of  this  speech.  They  said  nothing,  however;  for  the 
conversation  had  reached  a  point  of  delicacy  that  made 
men  hesitate  to  say  what  they  thought.  Pemberton 
turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  away.  The  irrepressible 
Harris  called  after  him  belligerently  :  — 

"Oh,   I   don't   know  about  that,  now,  Mr.   Pember- 


58  THE   COMMON   LOT 

ton.  It  takes  all  kinds  of  men  to  make  a  club,  you 
know." 

As  the  little  group  broke  up,  Harris  linked  his  arm  in 
Hart's. 

"I've  got  something  to  say  to  you,  Jackie,"  he  said 
boisterously.  "  We'll  order  dinner,  if  you  are  free, 
and  I'll  put  you  up  to  something  that's  better  than  old 
Pemberton's  talk.  It  just  occurred  to  me  while  we  were 
gassing  here." 

The  young  architect  did  not  quite  like  Harris's  style, 
but  he  had  already  planned  to  dine  at  the  club,  and  they 
went  upstairs  to  the  dining-room  together.  He  was  curi 
ous  to  hear  what  the  broker  might  have  to  suggest  to  him. 

Hart  had  agreed  with  Pemberton's  ideas,  naturally 
enough,  in  the  abstract.  But  in  the  concrete,  the  force 
of  circumstances,  here  in  this  roaring  city  where  he  found 
himself  caught,  was  fast  preparing  him  to  accept  the 
Harris  view.  Like  most  men  of  his  class  he  was  neither 
an  idealist  nor  a  weakling :  he  was  merely  a  young  man, 
still  making  up  his  character  as  he  went  along,  and 
taking  color  more  or  less  from  the  landscape  he  found 
himself  in. 

His  aspirations  for  art,  if  not  fine,  were  sufficiently 
earnest  and  sincere.  He  had  always  thought  of  himself 
as  luckily  fortuned,  so  that  he  could  devote  himself  to 
getting  real  distinction  in  his  profession.  So  he  had 
planned  his  life  in  Paris.  Now,  brought  back  from  that 
pleasant  world  into  this  stern  city,  with  all  its  striving, 
apparently,  centred  upon  the  one  business  of  making 
money,  then  deprived  by  what  seemed  to  him  a  harsh 


THE   COMMON   LOT  59 

and  unfair  freak  of  fortune  of  all  his  pleasant  expecta 
tions,  he  was  trying  to  read  the  face  of  Destiny.  And 
there  he  seemed  to  find  written  what  this  gritty  broker 
had  harshly  expressed.  There  was,  to  be  sure,  another 
road  to  fortune,  which  had  not  been  mentioned,  and  that 
was  to  make  a  rich  marriage.  This  road  had  been  fol 
lowed  with  signal  success  by  a  number  of  his  acquaint 
ances:  it  was  one  of  the  well-recognized  methods  of 
attaining  that  point  of  vantage  which  he  had  hoped  to 
inherit,  —  to  win  one  of  the  daughters  of  wealth  !  And 
since  his  return  from  Europe  the  young  architect  had 
had  his  opportunities  in  the  society  where  he  had  been 
welcomed.  But  apart  from  his  growing  love  for  Helen 
Spellman,  he  was  too  sturdy  a  man  to  like  this  easy 
method  of  advancement.  He  turned  from  the  idea  with 
instinctive  repugnance,  and  an  honest  feeling  of  contempt 
for  the  men  who  in  that  way  had  sneaked  into  fortune. 

"  Say,  you've  got  a  good  friend  in  Mrs.  Will  Phillips," 
Harris  began  bluntly  when  they  were  seated  opposite 
each  other. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Phillips !  I  used  to  see  something  of  her 
in  Paris,"  Jackson  acknowledged  indifferently. 

He  remembered  that  he  had  not  followed  the  widow's 
invitation  to  call  upon  her,  all  thought  of  her  having 
been  driven  out  of  his  mind  by  the  happenings  of  the 
last  few  days. 

"  I  rather  think  she  would  like  to  see  more  of  you  in 
Chicago!"  the  broker  laughed  back. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  Hart  asked,  wondering  where 
Harris's  path  crossed  that  of  the  gay  Mrs.  Phillips. 


60  THE   COMMON   LOT 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  right.  She's  a  good  customer  of  ours. 
I've  been  talking  to  her  half  the  afternoon  about  things." 

"  Oh !  "  Jackson  exclaimed,  not  much  interested  in  the 
subject. 

The  broker's  next  remark  had  nothing  to  do  with  Mrs. 
Phillips. 

"  You  fellows  don't  make  much  money  building  houses. 
Ain't  that  so?  You  need  other  jobs.  Well,  I  am  going 
to  give  you  a  pointer." 

He  stopped  mysteriously,  and  then  began  again :  — 

"  I  happen  to  know  that  the  C.  E.  and  N.  Road  is  going 
to  put  a  lot  of  money  into  improvements  this  summer. 
Among  other  things  they're  getting  ready  to  build  new 
stations  all  along  the  north  shore  line, — you  know,  up 
through  the  suburbs,  —  Forest  Park,  Shoreham,  and  so 
on.  They've  got  a  lot  of  swell  patronage  out  that  way, 
and  they  are  making  ready  for  more." 

Hart  listened  to  the  broker  with  renewed  interest. 
He  wondered  how  Harris  should  happen  to  know  this 
news  ahead  of  the  general  public,  and  he  began  to  see 
the  connection  it  might  have  with  his  own  fortune. 

"  That's  where  they  are  going  to  put  a  lot  of  their  sur 
plus  earnings.  Now,  those  stations  must  be  the  top  of 
the  style,  —  real  buildings,  not  sheds.  And  I  don't  think 
they  have  any  architect  yet." 

"  Well ! "  the  architect  remarked  cynically.  "  The  presi 
dent  or  one  of  the  vice-presidents  will  have  a  son,  or 
nephew,  or  some  one  to  work  in.  Or,  perhaps,  they  may 
have  a  competitive  trial  for  the  plans." 

"Perhaps  they  will,  and  perhaps  they  won't,"  Harris 


THE   COMMON   LOT  61 

answered  knowingly.  "  The  man  who  will  decide  all 
that  is  their  first  vice-president,  —  Raymond,  Colonel 
Stevens  P.  Raymond,  —  know  him  ?  " 

Hart  shook  his  head. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Phillips  does.  He  lives  out  in  Forest 
Park,  where  she's  thinking  of  building  a  big  house." 

"Is  Mrs.  Phillips  thinking  of  building  in  Forest 
Park  ?  "  the  architect  asked  quickly. 

Harris  looked  at  him  in  a  bored  manner. 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  were  going  to  draw  the  plans  ! " 

"She  asked  me  to  come  to  see  her,"  Hart  admitted. 
"But  that  was  all.  I  thought  it  was  just  a  social 
matter." 

"  Well,  if  a  rich  and  good-looking  woman  asked  me  to 
call  on  her,  I  shouldn't  take  all  year  about  making  up 
my  mind ! " 

Jackson  could  not  help  thinking  that  it  would  be  more 
embarrassing  to  call  on  the  widow  now  than  if  he  had  not 
had  this  talk  with  the  broker.  His  relations  with  Mrs. 
Phillips  in  Paris  had  been  pleasant,  unalloyed  with  busi 
ness.  He  remembered  how  he  had  rather  patronized 
the  ambitious  young  woman,  who  had  desired  to  meet 
artists,  to  go  to  their  studios,  and  to  give  little  dinners 
where  every  one  talked  French  but  her  stupid  husband. 

"The  widow  Phillips  thinks  a  lot  of  your  ability, 
Jackie,  and  old  S.  P.  R.  thinks  a  lot  of  the  widow.  Now 
do  you  see  ?  " 

The  architect  laughed  nervously.  He  could  see  plainly 
enough  what  was  meant,  but  he  did  not  like  it  altogether. 

"  She  can  do  what  she  likes  with  the  old  man.     The 


62  THE   COMMON   LOT 

job  is  as  good  as  yours,  if  you  work  it  properly.  I've 
given  you  the  tip  straight  ahead  of  the  whole  field.  Not 
a  soul  knows  that  the  C.  R.  and  N.  is  going  in  for  this 
kind  of  thing." 

"  It  would  be  a  big  chance,"  the  architect  replied.  "  It 
was  good  of  you  to  think  of  me,  Ben." 

"  That's  all  right.  It  popped  into  my  head  when  that 
ass  Pemberton  began  his  talk  about  your  uncle's  gift  to 
the  public.  I  must  say,  Jack,  it  seemed  to  me  a  dirty 
trick  of  the  old  man  to  cut  you  out  the  way  he  did.  Are 
you  going  to  fight  the  will,  or  is  it  so  fixed  that  you  can't  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  yet,  what  I  shall  do  about  it." 

"  To  bring  a  fellow  up  as  he  did  you,  and  then  knock 
on  him  at  the  end,  —  it's  just  low  down !  " 

That  was  the  view  Jackson  Hart  was  more  and  more 
inclined  to  take  of  his  uncle's  will,  and  he  warmed  to 
the  coarse,  outspoken  broker,  who  had  shown  him  real 
friendliness  when  he  was  no  longer  in  a  position  to  be  of 
importance  to  any  one.  Harris  seemed  to  him  to  be  warm 
blooded  and  human.  The  young  architect  was  beginning  to 
feel  that  this  was  not  a  world  for  delicacy  of  motive  and 
refinement.  When  he  suggested  diffidently  that  some 
large  firm  of  architects  would  probably  be  chosen  by  the 
C.  R.  and  N.  people,  Harris  said :  — 

"  Rats  !  Raymond  won't  hunt  round  for  references, 
beyond  what  Mrs.  Phillips  will  give  him.  You  see  her  as 
quick  as  you  can  and  tell  her  you  want  the  chance." 

The  opportunity  which  Harris  had  suggested  would  be 
given  to  him  by  a  woman.  Yet,  however  much  he  might 
dislike  to  go  to  a  woman  for  such  help,  the  chance  began 


THE   COMMON   LOT  O3 

to  loom  large  in  his  imagination.  Here  was  something 
that  even  Wright  would  be  glad  to  have.  He  saw  him 
self  in  his  own  office,  having  two  large  commissions  to 
start  with,  and  possibly  a  third,  —  Mrs.  Phillips's  new 
house  in  Forest  Park  ! 

Perhaps  Wright  did  know,  after  all,  about  the  C.  K. 
and  N.  matter.  Hart's  fighting  blood  rose  :  he  would  do 
his  best  to  snatch  this  good  thing  from  him,  or  from 
any  other  architect!  And  to  do  it  he  would  take  the 
readiest  means  at  hand.  He  forgot  his  contempt  for  that 
American  habit  of  pull  which  he  had  much  deplored  in 
studio  discussions.  All  that  had  been  theory ;  this  was 
personal  and  practical.  When  Harris  had  to  leave,  after 
coffee,  the  architect  shook  him  warmly  by  the  hand  and 
thanked  him  again  for  his  friendliness. 

Within  the  day  Fortune  had  smiled  upon  him  twice. 
Neither  time,  to  be  sure,  was  the  way  to  her  favor  quite 
what  he  would  have  chosen  if  he  could  have  chosen.  But 
one  must  not  discriminate  too  nicely,  the  young  man  was 
beginning  to  feel,  when  one  picks  up  the  cards  to 
play.  .  .  . 

Below,  from  the  busy  street,  rose  the  piercing  note  of 
the  city,  —  rattle,  roar,  and  clang,  —  scarcely  less  shrill  at 
eight  of  an  evening  than  at  noon.  From  the  bulk-heads 
on  the  roof  of  the  next  building  soared  a  drab-colored 
cloud  of  steam,  eddying  upwards  even  to  the  open  win 
dows  of  the  club  dining-room.  The  noise,  the  smell,  the 
reek  of  the  city  touched  the  man,  folded  him  in,  swayed 
him  like  a  subtle  opiate.  The  thirst  of  the  terrible  game 
of  living,  the  desire  of  things,  the  brute  love  of  triumph, 


64  THE   COMMON   LOT 

filled  his  veins.  Old  Powers  Jackson,  contemptuously 
putting  him  to  one  side,  had  unconsciously  worked  this 
state  of  mind  in  him.  He,  Jackson  Hart,  would  show 
the  world  that  he  could  fight  for  himself,  could  snatch 
the  prize  that  every  one  was  fighting  for,  the  supreme 
prize  of  man's  life  to-day  —  a  little  pot  of  gold  1 


CHAPTER  VI 

"  How  did  young  Mr.  Hart  take  the  will  ?  "  Mrs.  Phil 
lips  asked  her  brother-in-law  the  first  time  she  saw  him 
after  the  funeral. 

"  Why,  all  right,  I  guess,"  the  judge  answered  slowly. 
"Why  shouldn't  he?" 

"  I  hoped  he  would  fight  it,"  the  widow  replied,  eying 
the  judge  calmly. 

"  I  believe  he  isn't  that  much  of  a  fool.  Just  because 
Powers  looked  after  his  mother,  and  fed  him  all  these 
years,  and  gave  him  an  expensive  education,  —  why 
should  he  be  obliged  to  leave  the  chap  all  his  money,  if 
he  didn't  want  to  ?  " 

Mrs.  Phillips  avoided  a  direct  reply,  and  continued 
to  announce  her  opinions,  —  a  method  of  conversation 
which  she  knew  was  highly  irritating  to  the  judge. 

"  Philanthropy !  What's  the  use  of  such  philanthropy  ? 
The  city  has  enough  schools.  It's  all  foolishness  to  give 
your  money  to  other  people  to  eat  up ! " 

"That  is  a  matter  of  feeling,"  Judge  Phillips  answered 
dryly.  "I  shouldn't  expect  you  to  feel  as  Powers  did 
about  such  things." 

Harrison  Phillips  had  few  illusions  concerning  his 
sister-in-law,  and  she  knew  it.  Years  before  they  had 
F  65 


66  THE   COMMON   LOT 

reached  the  point  where  they  dispensed  with  polite 
subterfuges  and  usually  confined  their  social  intercourse 
to  the  superficial  surface  of  conversation.  He  had  known 
her  ever  since  she  came  to  Chicago  from  a  little  Illinois 
town  to  study  music.  Indeed,  he  had  first  introduced 
his  younger  brother  to  her,  he  remembered  unhappily. 
She  was  Louise  Faunce,  then,  —  a  keen,  brown-eyed  coun 
try  girl  of  eighteen.  When  Will  Phillips  wanted  to 
marry  her,  the  judge  had  already  felt  the  pretty  girl's 
little  claws,  and  had  been  foolish  enough  to  warn  his 
brother  of  his  fate.  Will  Phillips  was  a  dull  young  man, 
and  had  poor  health.  The  older  brother  knew  that 
Will  was  being  married  for  his  money,  —  a  considerable 
fortune  for  a  girl  from  Ottumwa,  Illinois. 

And  the  marriage  had  not  been  a  happy  one.  The  last 
years  of  his  life  Will  Phillips  had  taken  to  drinking. 
The  judge  felt  that  the  wife  had  driven  his  brother  to 
his  sodden  end,  and  he  hated  her  for  it,  with  a  proper 
and  legal  hatred.  Six  months  before  his  end  Will  Phil 
lips  had  come  home  from  Europe,  leaving  his  two  children 
in  Paris  with  his  wife,  apparently  for  an  indefinite  sepa 
ration.  Why  the  widow  had  chosen  to  return  to  Chicago 
after  her  husband's  death  was  a  mystery  to  the  judge, 
who  never  gave  Louise  Phillips  credit  for  half  her 
character.  For  she  was  shrewd  enough  to  perceive  that 
neither  she  nor  her  children  could  have  any  permanent 
position  in  the  world  outside  of  Chicago.  And  she  had 
no  mind  to  sacrifice  the  social  position  that  her  husband's 
family  and  friends  had  made  for  her. 

She  told  her  brother-in-law  on  her  return  that  she  had 


THE  COMMON   LOT  67 

found  Europe  an  unsuitable  place  in  which  to  bring 
up  the  children,  and  proposed  before  long  to  build 
a  new  house,  perhaps  in  Forest  Park,  —  one  of  the 
older  and  more  desirable  suburbs  to  the  north  of  the 
city. 

"I  must  make  a  home  for  my  children  among  their 
father's  friends,"  she  said  to  the  judge  with  perfect 
propriety.  "Venetia,  especially,  should  have  the 
right  background  now  that  she  is  becoming  a  young 
woman." 

Venetia  —  so  named  in  one  of  the  rare  accesses  of 
sentiment  which  came  to  Mrs.  Phillips,  as  to  all  mortals, 
because  it  was  to  Venice  that  she  had  first  been  taken 
as  a  young  bride  —  was  now  sixteen  years  old.  Her 
brother  Stanwood,  a  year  younger,  had  been  placed  in  a 
fashionable  Eastern  school,  where  he  was  preparing  for 
Yale,  and  ultimately  for  the  "  career  of  diplomacy,"  as 
his  mother  called  it. 

The  judge,  who  was  trustee  for  his  brother's  children, 
had  called  this  Sunday  afternoon  to  discuss  the  project 
of  the  new  house  with  his  sister-in-law.  She  had  notified 
him  that  she  should  need  presently  a  considerable  sum  of 
money,  and  expected  to  take  a  part  of  it,  at  least,  from 
the  children's  inheritance.  About  this  money  matter 
they  had  come  to  a  warm  difference  of  opinion,  which 
Mrs.  Phillips  had  put  aside  momentarily  to  discuss  the 
Jackson  will. 

"If  you  will  wait,"  she  remarked,  having  exhausted 
her  opinion  about  philanthropy  and  Powers  Jackson's 


68  THE   COMMON   LOT 

will,  "  you  might  see  my  architect.  I  have  asked  Mr. 
Hart  to  call  this  afternoon." 

"  I  don't  pine  to  see  him,"  the  old  man  retorted  testily. 
"  So  you  have  gone  that  far  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  There  isn't  the  slightest  use  of  being  disagree 
able  about  it,  you  see.  Nothing  that  you  can  say  will 
change  my  mind.  It  never  has.  You  would  like  to  keep 
me  from  spending  the  money.  But  you  can't  without  a 
row,  a  scandal.  Besides,  I  know  it  will  be  a  good  invest 
ment  for  both  the  children." 

"You  were  always  pretty  keen  for  a  good  invest 
ment  ! " 

"You  mean  by  that  sarcasm  that  you  think  I  was 
sharp  when  I  married  your  brother,  because  I  had 
nothing  but  my  good  looks.  They  were  certainly  worth 
as  much  as  a  husband  —  who  —  drank  himself  —  to 
death." 

"We  won't  go  into  that,  please,"  the  judge  said,  his 
bright  blue  eyes  glittering.  "  I  hope,  Louise,  to  live  to 
see  the  day  when  you  get  what  you  deserve,  —  just  how 
I  don't  know." 

"  Thank  you,  Harrison,"  Mrs.  Phillips  replied  unper 
turbed.  "We  all  do  get  what  we  deserve,  sooner  or 
later,  don't  we  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  I  give  up  hope  ! "  the  old  man  exclaimed 
irascibly. 

"  There's  my  young  man  now ! "  she  observed,  look 
ing  out  of  the  window.  "If  you  want  to  know  just 
what  extravagances  I  am  going  into,  you  had  better 
wait*" 


THE   COMMON   LOT  69 

"  I'll  know  soon  enough  !  Where's  Ven  ?  I  want  to 
see  her." 

"  She  should  be  out  riding  with  John." 

Mrs.  Phillips  rose  from  her  deep  chair  to  greet  the 
architect.  All  at  once  her  face  and  manner  seemed  to 
lose  the  hard,  cold  surface  that  she  had  presented  to 
the  judge,  the  surface  of  a  middle-aged,  shrewd  woman. 
Suddenly  she  expanded,  opened  herself  graciously  to  the 
young  man. 

The  old  gentleman  stalked  out  of  the  drawing-room, 
with  a  curt  nod  and  a  grunt  for  Hart.  The  architect 
looked  to  the  widow  for  an  explanation  of  the  stormy 
atmosphere,  but,  ignoring  the  judge,  she  smiled  all  the 
warmer  welcome  to  her  visitor. 

"So  good  of  you  to  answer  my  note  promptly,"  she 
murmured.  "  For  I  know  how  busy  you  are ! " 

"  I  had  already  promised  myself  the  pleasure  for  to 
day,"  Jackson  replied  quickly,  using  a  phrase  he  had 
thought  up  on  his  way  into  the  room. 

And  as  he  looked  at  her  resting  in  her  deep  chair,  he 
realized  that  it  was  a  distinct  pleasure  to  be  there.  He 
felt  that  here  in  Chicago  even  in  the  ugly  drawing-room 
of  the  old-fashioned  house  Mrs.  Will  Phillips  was  much 
more  of  a  person  than  she  had  been  in  Paris.  Still,  here  as 
there,  the  woman  in  her  was  the  first  and  last  fact.  She 
was  thirty-seven,  and  in  the  very  best  of  health.  To  one 
who  did  not  lay  exclusive  emphasis  on  mere  youth,  the 
first  bloom  of  the  fruit,  she  was  much  more  beautiful 
than  when,  as  a  raw  girl  from  Ottumwa,  she  had  married 


70  THE   COMMON  LOT 

Willie  Phillips.  Sensitive,  nervous,  in  the  full  tide  of 
her  physical  life,  she  had  what  is  euphemistically  called 
to-day  temperament.  To  this  instinctive  side  of  the 
woman,  the  handsome,  strong  young  man  had  always 
appealed. 

It  is  also  true  that  she  was  clever,  and  had  learned 
with  great  rapidity  how  to  cover  up  the  holes  of  a 
wretched  education.  At  first,  however,  a  man  could 
think  of  but  one  thing  in  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Phillips  : 
"  You  are  a  woman,  and  a  very  inviting  one ! " 

Doubtless  she  meant  that  men  should  think  that,  and 
nothing  more,  at  first.  Those  who  had  come  through  the 
fire,  to  whom  she  was  cold  and  hard,  like  an  inferior 
gem,  might  say  later  with  the  judge  :  — 

"  Louise  flings  her  sex  at  you  from  the  first  smile.  If 
you  feel  that  sort  of  thing,  the  only  thing  to  do  is  to  run." 

Jackson  Hart  had  not  yet  reached  this  point  of  human 
experience.  Nevertheless,  he  was  but  dimly  aware  that 
the  woman  opposite  him  troubled  his  mind,  preoccupied 
as  it  happened  to  be  with  business,  like  a  too  pronounced 
perfume.  Here,  in  the  hard  atmosphere  of  an  American 
city,  he  was  not  inclined  to  remember  the  sentimentali 
ties  of  his  Paris  days  and  was  more  interested  in  the 
widow's  prospective  house  than  in  her  personal  charms. 
Accordingly,  Mrs.  Phillips,  with  quick  perception, 
soon  dropped  the  reminiscential  tone  that  she  had  been 
inclined  to  take  at  first.  She  came  promptly  to  busi 
ness  :  — 

"  Could  you  consider  a  small  commission,  Mr.  Hart  ?  " 
she  asked  with  apparent  hesitation. 


THE  COMMON  LOT  71 

The  architect  would  have  undertaken  to  build  a 
doll's  house.  Nevertheless,  his  heart  sank  at  the  word 
«  small." 

"I  so  much  want  your  advice,  at  any  rate.  I  value 
your  taste  so  highly.  You  taught  me  how  to  look  at 
things  over  there.  And  we  should  agree,  I  am  sure ! " 

Then  she  unfolded  more  plainly  her  purpose  of  build 
ing  in  Forest  Park.  She  had  thought  of  something 
Tudor.  (She  had  been  visiting  at  a  Tudor  house  in  the 
East.)  But  the  architect,  without  debating  the  point, 
sketched  on  the  back  of  an  envelope  the  outline  of  an  old 
French  chateau,  —  a  toy  study  in  part  of  the  famous 
chateau  at  Chenonceaux. 

"  What  a  lovely  roof ! "  Mrs.  Phillips  exclaimed  respon- 
sively.  "  And  how  the  thing  grows  under  your  hand !  It 
seems  as  though  you  must  have  had  just  what  I  wanted 
in  mind."  She  leaned  over  the  little  piece  of  paper,  fas 
cinated  by  the  architect's  facility. 

As  he  drew  in  the  faqade,  he  noticed  that  the  widow 
had  very  lovely  hair,  of  a  tone  rarely  found  in  America, 
between  brown  and  black,  —  dusky.  Then  he  remem 
bered  that  he  had  made  the  same  observation  before  in 
Paris.  The  arch  of  her  neck,  which  was  strong  and  full, 
was  also  excellent.  And  her  skin  was  of  a  perfect 
pallor. 

By  the  time  he  had  made  these  observations  and 
finished  his  rough  little  sketch,  the  Tudor  period  had 
been  forgotten,  and  the  question  of  the  commission  had 
been  really  decided.  There  remained  to  be  debated  the 
matter  of  cost.  After  one  or  two  tactful  feints  the  archi- 


72  THE  COMMON   LOT 

tect  was  forced  to  ask  bluntly  what  the  widow  expected 
to  spend  on  the  house.  At  the  mention  of  money  Mrs. 
Phillips' s  brows  contracted  slightly.  A  trace  of  hard 
ness,  like  fine  enamel,  settled  on  her  features. 

"  What  could  you  build  it  for  ? "  she  demanded 
brusquely. 

"Why,  on  a  thing  like  this  you  can  spend  what  you 
like,"  he  stammered.  "  Of  course  a  house  in  Forest  Park 
ought  to  be  of  a  certain  kind,  —  to  be  a  good  investment," 
he  added  politely. 

"Of  course.  Would  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  be 
enough  ?  " 

The  architect  felt  relieved  on  hearing  the  size  of  the 
figure,  but  he  had  had  time  to  realize  that  this  agreeable 
client  might  be  close  in  money  matters.  It  would  be 
well  to  have  her  mind  keyed  to  a  liberal  figure  at  the 
start,  and  he  said  boldly :  — 

"  You  could  do  a  good  deal  for  that.  But  not  a  place 
like  this,  —  such  a  one  as  you  ought  to  have,  Mrs. 
Phillips,"  he  added,  appealing  to  her  vanity. 

Once  he  had  called  her  Louise,  and  they  both  were 
conscious  of  the  fact.  Nevertheless,  she  eyed  him  keenly. 
She  was  quite  well  aware  that  he  wanted  to  get  all  the 
freedom  to  develop  his  sketch  that  a  good  sum  of  money 
would  give,  and  also  had  in  mind  the  size  of  his  fee, 
which  would  be  a  percentage  of  the  cost.  But  this  con 
sideration  did  not  offend  her.  In  this  struggle,  mental 
and  polite,  over  the  common  topic  of  money,  she  expected 
him  to  assert  himself. 

"  It's  no  use  being  small  in  such  matters,"  she  con- 


THE   COMMON   LOT  73 

ceded  at  length,  having  reflected  on  the  profits  of  certain 
dealings  with  Ben  Harris's  firm.  "  Let  us  say  fifty 
thousand ! " 

"  That's  much  more  possible ! "  the  architect  replied 
buoyantly,  with  a  vague  idea  already  forming  that  his 
sketches  might  call  for  a  house  that  would  cost  seventy 
or  seventy-five  thousand  dollars  to  complete. 

The  money  matter  out  of  the  way,  the  widow  relapsed 
into  her  friendly  manner. 

"  I  hope  you  can  begin  right  away  !  I  am  so  anxious 
to  get  out  of  this  old  barn,  and  I  want  to  unpack  all  the 
treasures  I  bought  in  Europe  the  last  time." 

Judge  Phillips  would  have  shuddered  to  hear  his 
brother's  large  brick  house,  encircled  in  Chicago  fashion 
by  a  neat  strip  of  grass,  referred  to  as  a  "  barn."  And 
the  architect,  on  his  side,  knowing  something  of  Louise 
Phillips's  indiscriminate  taste  in  antiquities,  was  resolved 
to  cull  the  "  treasures  "  before  they  found  a  place  in  his 
edifice. 

"Why,  I'll  begin  on  some  sketches  right  away.  If 
they  please  you,  I  could  do  the  plans  at  once  —  just  as 
soon  as  I  gpfc  my  own  office,"  he  added  honestly.  "  You 
know  I  have  been  working  for  Walker,  Post,  and  Wright. 
But  I  am  going  to  leave  them  very  soon." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,"  Mrs.  Phillips  replied  sym 
pathetically.  "  It  ought  to  have  been  so  different.  I 
think  that  will  was  disgraceful !  I  hope  you  can  break  it." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  shall  try,"  he  answered  hastily, 
startled  at  the  widow's  cool  comment  on  his  uncle's 
purposes. 


74  THE   COMMON   LOT 

"  Well,  you  know  best,  I  suppose.  But  I  should  think 
a  long  time  before  I  let  them  build  that  school." 

"At  any  rate,  it  looks  now  as  if  I  should  want  all 
the  work  I  can  get,"  he  answered,  looking  into  her  eyes, 
and  thinking  of  what  Harris  had  told  him  of  the 
C.  R.  and  N.  job.  He  had  it  on  his  lips  to  add,  "  Can't 
you  say  a  word  for  me  to  your  friend  Colonel  Ray 
mond?"  But  he  could  not  bring  himself  easily  to  the 
point  of  asking  outright  for  business  favors  at  a  woman's 
hand.  While  he  hesitated,  not  finding  a  phrase  suffi 
ciently  delicate  to  express  the  idea,  she  happily  saved  him 
from  the  crudity  of  open  speech. 

"  Perhaps  I  can  help  you  in  certain  ways.  There's 
something  —  Well,  we  won't  begin  on  that  to-day.  But 
you  can  rest  assured  that  I  am  your  friend,  can't  you  ?  " 

They  understood  each  other  thus  easily.  He  knew 
that  she  was  well  aware  of  what  was  in  his  mind,  and  was 
disposed  to  help  him  to  the  full  extent  of  her  woman's 
power.  In  his  struggle  for  money  and  place,  —  things 
that  she  appreciated,  —  she  would  be  an  able  friend. 

Having  come  to  a  complete  agreement  on  a  number  of 
matters,  in  the  manner  of  a  man  and  a  woman,  they 
began  to  talk  of  Paris  and  of  other  days.  Outside  in  ihe 
hall  there  was  the  sound  of  steps,  and  a  laughing,  vigor 
ous  girl's  voice.  The  architect  could  see  a  thin,  tall 
girl,  as  she  threw  her  arms  about  Judge  Phillips's  plump 
neck  and  pulled  his  head  to  a  level  with  her  mouth.  He 
noticed  that  Mrs.  Phillips  was  also  watching  this  scene 
with  stealthy  eyes.  When  the  door  had  closed  upon  the 
judge,  she  called  :  — 


THE   COMMON  LOT  75 

"Venetia,  will  you  come  here,  dear!  I  want  you  to 
meet  Mr.  Hart.  You  remember  Mr.  Hart  ? " 

The  girl  crossed  the  drawing-room  slowly,  the  fire  in 
her  strangely  extinguished  at  the  sound  of  her  mother's 
voice.  She  gave  a  bony  little  hand  to  the  architect,  and 
nodded  her  head,  like  a  rebellious  trick  dog.  Then  she 
drew  away  from  the  two  and  stood  beside  the  window, 
waiting  for  the  next  order. 

She  was  dark  like  her  mother,  but  her  features  lacked 
the  widow's  pleasant  curves.  They  were  firm  and  square, 
and  a  pair  of  dark  eyes  looked  out  moodily  from  under 
heavy  eyebrows.  The  short  red  lips  were  full  and 
curved,  while  the  mother's  lips  were  dangerously  thin 
and  straight.  As  the  architect  looked  at  the  girl,  stand 
ing  tall  and  erect  in  the  light  from  the  western  window, 
he  felt  that  she  was  destined  to  be  of  some  importance. 
It  was  also  plain  enough  that  she  and  her  mother  were 
not  sympathetic.  When  the  widow  spoke,  the  daughter 
seemed  to  listen  with  the  terrible  criticism  of  youth 
lurking  in  her  eyes. 

A  close  observer  would  have  seen,  also,  that  the  girl 
had  in  her  a  capacity  for  passion  that  the  mother  alto 
gether  lacked.  The  woman  was  mildly  sensuous  and 
physical  in  mood,  but  totally  without  the  strong  emotions 
of  the  girl  that  might  sweep  her  to  any  act,  mindless  of 
fate.  When  the  clash  came  between  the  two,  as  it  was 
likely  to  come  before  long,  the  mother  would  be  the  one 
to  retreat. 

"  Have  you  had  your  ride,  dear  ?  "  Mrs.  Phillips  asked 
;n  soothing  tones,  carefully  prepared  for  the  public. 


76  THE   COMMON   LOT 

"  No,  mamma.     Uncle  Harry  was  here,  you  know." 

"  I  am  sorry  not  to  have  you  take  your  ride  every  day, 
no  matter  what  happens,"  the  mother  continued,  as  if 
she  had  not  heard  the  girl's  excuse. 

"  I  had  rather  see  uncle  Harry.  Besides,  Frolic  went 
lame  yesterday." 

"  You  can  always  take  my  horse,"  Mrs.  Phillips  per 
sisted,  her  eyebrows  contracting  as  they  had  over  the 
money  question. 

A  look  of  what  some  day  might  become  contempt 
shadowed  the  girl's  face.  She  bowed  to  the  architect  in 
her  stiff  way  which  made  him  understand  that  it  was 
no  recommendation  to  her  favor  to  be  her  mother's 
friend,  and  walked  across  the  room  with  a  dignity  beyond 
the  older  woman's  power. 

"  She  is  at  the  difficult  age,"  the  mother  murmured. 

"  She  is  growing  beautiful ! "  Jackson  exclaimed. 

"  I  hope  so,"  Mrs.  Phillips  answered  composedly. 
"  When  can  you  let  me  see  the  sketches  ?  " 

"  In  two  or  three  days." 

"  Won't  you  dine  with  us  next  Wednesday,  then  ?  " 

She  seemed  to  have  arranged  every  detail  of  the  trans 
action  with  accuracy  and  care. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  Spellmans  lived  on  the  other  side  of  the  city  from 
Mrs.  Phillips,  on  Maple  Street,  very  near  the  lake.  Their 
little  stone-front,  Gothic-faced  house  was  pretty  nearly  all 
the  tangible  property  that  Mr.  Spellman  had  to  leave  to 
his  widow  and  child  when  he  died,  sixteen  years  before. 
There  had  been  also  his  small  interest  in  Jackson's  Bridge 
Works,  an  interest  which  at  the  time  was  largely  specu 
lative,  but  which  had  enabled  Powers  Jackson  to  pay  the 
widow  a  liberal  income  without  hurting  her  pride. 

The  house  had  remained  very  much  what  it  had  been 
during  Mr.  Spellman's  lifetime,  its  bright  Brussels  carpets 
and  black-walnut  furniture  having  taken  on  the  respecta 
bility  of  age  and  use.  Here,  in  this  homely  eddy  of  the 
great  city,  mother  and  daughter  were  seated  reading  after 
their  early  dinner,  as  was  their  custom.  Helen,  having 
shown  no  aptitude  for  society,  after  one  or  two  seasons 
of  playing  the  wall-flower  at  the  modest  parties  of  their 
acquaintance,  had  resolutely  sought  her  own  interests  in 
life.  One  of  these  was  a  very  earnest  attempt  to  get 
that  vague  thing  called  an  education.  Just  at  present, 
this  consisted  of  much  reading  of  a  sociological  character 
suggested  by  a  course  of  university  lectures  which  she 
had  followed  during  the  winter. 

77 


78  THE  COMMON  LOT 

Mrs.  Spellman,  who  had  been  turning  the  leaves  of  a 
magazine,  finally  looked  up  from  its  pages  and  asked, 
"  Have  you  seen  Jackson  since  the  funeral  ?  " 

Helen  dropped  her  book  into  her  lap  and  looked  at  her 
mother  with  startled  eyes. 

"No,  mother.     I  suppose  he  is  very  busy  just  now." 

She  spoke  as  if  she  had  already  asked  herself  this  ques 
tion  a  number  of  times,  and  answered  it  in  the  same  way 
without  satisfaction. 

"  I  wonder  what  he  means  to  do  about  the  will,"  Mrs. 
Spellman  continued.  "  It  must  have  been  a  great  disap 
pointment  to  him.  I  wonder  if  he  had  any  idea  how  it 
would  be?" 

"  What  makes  you  think  he  is  disappointed  ?  "  the  girl 
asked  literally. 

"  Why,  I  saw  Everett  this  morning,  and  he  told  me  he 
thought  his  cousin  might  contest  the  will.  He  said  Jack 
son  was  feeling  very  sore.  It  would  be  such  a  pity  if 
there  were  any  trouble  over  Powers's  will ! " 

Helen  shut  the  book  in  her  lap  and  laid  it  on  the  table 
very  firmly. 

"How  can  Everett  say  such  things!  You  know, 
mother,  Jackson  would  never  think  of  doing  anything  so 
—  mean  —  so  ungrateful  ! " 

"  Some  people  might  consider  that  he  was  justified. 
And  it  is  a  very  large  sum  of  money.  If  he  had  expecta 
tions  of  —  " 

"  Just  because  uncle  Powers  was  always  so  kind  to 
him ! "  the  girl  interrupted  hotly.  "  Was  that  any  reason 
why  he  should  leave  him  a  lot  of  his  money  ?  " 


THE   COMMON  LOT  79 

"  My  dear,  most  people  would  think  it  was  a  sufficient 
reason  for  leaving  him  more  than  he  did." 

"  Then  most  people  are  very  self-interested  !  Everett 
Wheeler  might  expect  it.  But  Jackson  has  something 
better  in  life  to  do  than  worry  over  not  getting  his  uncle's 
money." 

Mrs.  Spellman,  who  had  known  Jackson  since  he  was 
a  child,  smiled  wisely,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  What  good  would  the  money  be  to  him  ?  Why 
should  he  want  more  than  he  has, — the  chance  to  do 
splendid  things,  to  work  for  something  better  than 
money  ?  That's  the  worst  about  men  like  Everett,  — 
they  think  of  nothing  but  money,  money,  from  morning 
to  night.  He  doesn't  believe  that  a  man  can  care  for  any 
other  thing." 

"  Poor  Everett ! "  her  mother  remarked  with  quiet 
irony.  "  He  isn't  thinking  of  contesting  the  will,  how 
ever." 

"  Nor  is  Jackson,  I  am  sure  !  "  the  girl  answered  posi 
tively. 

She  rose  from  her  chair  by  the  lamp,  and  walked  to 
and  fro  in  the  room.  When  she  stood  she  was  a  tall 
woman,  almost  large,  showing  the  growth  that  the  New 
England  stock  can  develop  in  a  favorable  environment. 
While  she  read,  her  features  had  been  quite  dull,  but  they 
were  fired  now  with  feeling,  and  the  deep  eyes  burned. 

Mrs.  Spellman,  whose  thoughts  had  travelled  rapidly, 
asked  suddenly  with  apparent  irrelevancy :  — 

"  How  would  you  like  to  spend  a  year  in  Europe  ?  " 

"  Why  should  we  ?  "  the  girl  demanded  quickly,  paua- 


80  THE   COMMON    LOT 

ing  opposite  her  mother.  "  What  makes  you  say 
that  ?  " 

"There  isn't  much  to  keep  us  here,"  Mrs.  Spellman 
explained.  "  You  enjoyed  your  trip  so  much,  and  I  am 
stronger  now.  We  needn't  travel,  you  know." 

The  girl  turned  away  her  face,  as  she  answered  eva 
sively,  "  But  why  should  we  go  away  ?  I  don't  want  to 
leave  Chicago." 

She  divined  that  her  mother  was  thinking  of  what  had 
occurred  to  her  many  times,  as  these  last  days  had  gone 
by  without  their  seeing  the  young  architect.  Possibly,  now 
that  he  knew  himself  to  be  without  fortune,  he  wished  to 
show  her  plainly  that  there  could  be  no  question  of  mar 
riage  between  them.  She  rejected  the  idea  haughtily,  and 
resented  her  mother's  acceptance  of  it  which  was  implied 
in  her  suggestion.  And  even  if  it  were  so,  she  was  not 
the  one  to  admit  to  herself  the  wound.  It  would  be  no 
pleasure  for  her  to  go  away. 

Could  it  be  true  that  he  was  thinking  of  fighting  the 
will  ?  Her  heart  scorned  the  suggestion,  for  there  was  in 
her  one  immense  capacity,  one  fiery  power,  and  that  was 
the  instinct  to  transform  all  that  she  knew  and  felt  into 
something  finer  than  it  actually  was.  Her  eyes  were  blind 
to  the  sordid  lines  in  the  pictiire ;  her  ears  deaf  to  the  dis 
cordant  notes.  In  that  long  passage  home  through  the 
Mediterranean  and  across  the  Atlantic  her  soul  had  given 
itself  unknown  to  herself  to  this  man,  and  she  could  not 
admit  the  slightest  disloyalty  to  her  conception  of  him ! 

She  returned  to  her  chair,  resolutely  picked  up  her  book, 
and  turned  the  pages  with  a  methodical,  unseeing  regu- 


THE  COMMON   LOT  81 

larity.  As  the  clock  tinkled  off  nine  strokes,  Mrs.  Spell- 
man  rose,  kissed  the  girl,  silently  pressing  her  fingers  on 
the  light  folds  of  her  hair,  and  went  upstairs.  Another 
half  hour  went  by ;  then,  as  the  clock  neared  ten,  the 
doorbell  rang.  Helen,  recollecting  that  the  servants 
had  probably  left  the  kitchen,  put  down  her  book  and 
stepped  into  the  hall.  She  waited  a  moment  there,  but 
when  the  bell  rang  a  second  time  she  went  resolutely  to 
the  door  and  opened  it. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Jackson  !  I  thought  it 
might  be  a  tramp." 

"  Well,  perhaps  you  aren't  so  far  wrong,"  the  architect 
answered  with  a  laugh.  "  I've  been  walking  miles.  Is 
it  too  late  to  come  in  ?  " 

For  answer  she  held  the  door  wide  open. 

"  I  have  been  dining  with  Mrs.  Phillips ;  she  has  asked 
me  to  draw  some  plans  for  her,"  Jackson  explained.  "  As 
I  came  by  the  house,  I  thought  I  would  tell  you  and  your 
mother  about  it." 

"  Mother  has  gone  upstairs,  but  come  in.  You  know  I 
always  read  late.  And  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  about  the 
plans." 

The  strong  night  wind  brushed  boisterously  through 
the  open  door,  ruffling  the  girl's  loosely  coiled  hair.  She 
put  her  hands  to  her  head  to  tighten  the  hairpins  here 
and  there.  If  the  man  could  have  read  colors  in  the 
dark  hall,  he  would  have  seen  that  Helen's  face,  usually 
too  pale,  had  flushed.  His  ears  were  quick  enough  to 
detect  the  tremulous  note  in  her  voice,  the  touch  of  sur 
prise  and  sudden  feeling.  It  answered  something  eleo 


82  THE  COMMON   LOT 

trie  in  himself,  something  that  had  driven  him  to 
her  across  the  city  straightway  from  Mrs.  Phillips's 
house ! 

He  followed  her  into  the  circle  of  Jamplight,  and  sat 
down  heavily  in  the  chair  that  she  had  been  occupying. 

"  What's  this  thing  you  are  reading  ?  "  he  asked  in  his 
usual  tone  of  authority,  picking  up  the  bulky  volume  be 
neath  the  lamp.  "Hobson's  'Social  Problem.'  Where 
did  you  get  hold  of  that?  It's  pretty  heavy  reading, 
isn't  it  ?  " 

His  tolerantly  amused  tone  indicated  the  value  he  put 
on  women's  efforts  to  struggle  with  abstract  ideas. 

"  Professor  Sturges  recommended  it  in  his  last  lecture. 
It  isn't  hard  —  only  it  makes  me  feel  so  ignorant ! " 

"Um,"  he  commented,  turning  over  the  leaves  criti 
cally. 

"  But  tell  me  about  Mrs.  Phillips  and  the  house." 

There  was  an  awkward  constraint  between  them,  not 
that  the  hour  or  the  circumstance  of  their  being  alone 
made  them  self-conscious.  There  was  nothing  unusual 
in  his  being  there  late  like  this,  after  Mrs.  Spellman  had 
gone  upstairs.  But  to-night  there  was  in  the  air  the  con 
sciousness  that  many  things  had  happened  since  they  had 
been  together  alone :  the  old  man's  death,  the  funeral,  the 
will,  —  most  of  all  the  will ! 

He  told  her  of  the  new  house  in  Forest  Park.  It  had 
been  decided  upon  that  evening,  his  preliminary  sketches 
having  been  received  enthusiastically.  But  he  lacked  all 
interest  in  it.  He  was  thinking  how  the  past  week  had 
changed  everything  in  his  life,  and  most  of  all  his  rela- 


THE  COMMON  LOT  83 

tion  with  this  girl.  Because  of  that  he  had  not  been  to  see 
her  before,  and  he  felt  uncertain  of  himself  in  being  here 
now. 

"  Mother  and  I  have  just  been  speaking  of  you.  We 
haven't  seen  you  since  the  funeral,  you  know,"  Helen 
remarked,  saying  simply  what  was  in  her  mind. 

Her  words  carried  no  reproach.  Yet  at  once  he  felt 
that  he  was  put  on  the  defensive ;  it  was  not  easy  to  ex 
plain  why  he  had  avoided  the  Maple  Street  house. 

"  A  lot  has  happened  lately,"  he  replied  vaguely. 
"  Things  have  changed  pretty  completely  for  me ! " 

A  tone  of  bitterness  crept  into  his  voice  in  spite  of 
himself.  He  wanted  sympathy;  for  that,  in  part,  he  had 
come  to  her  to-night.  At  the  same  time  he  felt  that  it 
was  a  weak  thing  to  do,  that  he  should  have  gone  almost 
anywhere  but  to  her. 

"It  takes  a  man  a  few  days  to  catch  his  breath,"  he 
continued,  "  when  he  finds  he's  been  cut  off  with  a  shill 
ing,  as  they  say  in  the  play." 

Her  eyes  dropped  from  his  face,  and  her  hands  began 
to  move  restlessly  over  the  folds  of  her  skirt. 

"  I've  had  a  lot  to  think  about  —  to  look  at  the  future 
in  a  new  way.  There's  no  hope  now  of  my  leaving  this 
place,  thanks  to  uncle ! " 

"  Oh ! "  she  exclaimed  in  a  low  voice.  The  coldness  of 
her  tone  was  not  lost  upon  the  man.  He  saw  quickly 
that  it  would  not  do  to  admit  to  her  that  he  even  con 
templated  contesting  his  uncle's  will.  She  was  not 
sympathetic  in  the  manner  of  Mrs.  Phillips! 

"  Of  course,"   he    hastened    to  add    magnanimously, 


84  THE  COMMON  LOT 

"  uncle  had  a  perfect  right  to  do  as  he  liked.  It  was 
his  money.  But  what  could  he  have  had  against  me  ?  " 

"  Why,  nothing,  I  am  sure ! "   she  answered  quickly. 

"  It  looks,  though,  as  if  he  had  ! " 

"Why?"  she  stammered,  trying  to  adjust  herself  to 
his  level  of  thought.  "  Perhaps  he  thought  it  was  better 
so  —  better  for  you,"  she  suggested  gently.  "He  used 
to  say  that  the  men  of  his  time  had  more  in  their  lives 
than  men  have  nowadays,  because  they  had  to  rely  on 
themselves  to  make  all  the  fight  from  the  beginning. 
Nowadays  so  many  young  men  inherit  capital  and  posi 
tion.  He  thought  there  were  two  great  gifts  in  life,  — 
health  and  education.  When  a  man  had  those,  he  could 
go  out  to  meet  the  future  bravely  without  any  other  help." 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  him  say  all  that,"  he  hastened  to 
admit.  "  But  the  world  isn't  running  on  just  the  same 
lines  it  was  when  uncle  Powers  was  working  at  the  forge. 
It's  a  longer  road  up  these  days." 

"  Is  it  ?  "  the  girl  asked  vaguely.  Then  they  were 
silent  once  more. 

There  was  nothing  of  reproof  in  her  words,  yet  he  felt 
keenly  the  difference  in  the  atmosphere  of  this  faded 
little  Maple  Street  house  from  the  world  he  had  been 
living  in  of  late.  He  had  told  himself  for  the  last  week 
that  now  he  could  not  marry  this  woman,  that  a  great 
and  perfectly  obvious  barrier  had  been  raised  between 
them  by  his  disinheritance.  It  had  all  been  so  clear  to 
him  from  the  first  that  he  had  not  questioned  the  idea. 
This  sacrifice  of  his  love  seemed  to  him  the  greatest  that 
his  uncle  had  forced  iipon  him,  and  as  the  days  had  gone 


THE  COMMON  LOT  85 

by  he  had  thought  incessantly  how  he  might  avoid  it, 
how  he  might  obtain  some  part  at  least  of  that  vanishing 
fortune. 

This  very  evening  he  had  had  more  talk  about  the  will 
with  the  clever  Mrs.  Phillips,  and  he  had  come  away  from 
her  almost  resolved  to  contest  the  instrument.  On  the 
morrow  he  would  notify  his  cousin,  consult  a  lawyer,  and 
take  the  preliminary  steps.  On  the  very  heels  of  that 
decision  there  had  come  an  irresistible  desire  to  see  this 
other  woman,  —  the  longing  for  the  antithesis  which  so 
often  besets  the  uncertain  human  will.  Nothing  was 
more  unlike  Mrs.  Phillips  in  his  horizon  than  this 
direct,  inexperienced  girl,  full  of  pure  enthusiasms  ! 

Now  Helen  had  made  him  feel  very  surely  that  noth 
ing  would  remove  him  farther  from  her  than  the  act  he 
was  contemplating  in  order  to  obtain  her.  If  she  but 
knew  his  intention,  she  might  scorn  him  forever!  He 
had  lost  her  somehow,  either  way,  he  kept  saying  to  him 
self,  as  he  sat  there  trying  to  think  calmly,  to  feel  less. 
And  straightway  he  put  another  black  mark  against  his 
uncle's  memory ! 

He  had  never  cared  to  be  near  her  so  much  as  now. 
Every  soreness  and  weakness  of  his  spirit  seemed  to  call 
out  for  her  strong,  capable  hand.  Even  the  sensuous  Mrs. 
Phillips,  by  some  subtle  crossing  of  the  psychological 
wires,  had  driven  him  back  to  this  plain  girl,  with  the 
honest  eyes  and  unimpassioned  bosom.  So  also  had  the 
slippery  contractor  and  the  shrewd  men  at  his  club.  In 
fact,  his  world  had  conspired  to  set  him  down  here, 
before  the  one  who  alone  knew  nothing  of  its  logic ! 


86  THE  COMMON  LOT 

"  You  haven't  said  anything  about  the  school,"  Helen 
remarked  after  a  time.  "Aren't  you  glad  I"  she  ex 
claimed,  in  the  need  of  her  spirit  to  know  him.  to  be  as 
generous  as  she  thought  him.  "  It  was  so  big,  so  large- 
hearted  of  him  !  Especially  after  all  the  bitter  things  the 
papers  had  said  about  him,  —  to  give  pretty  nearly  every 
thing  he  had  made,  the  whole  work  of  his  life,  to  help 
the  working  people  —  the  very  ones  who  had  so  often 
misunderstood  him  and  tried  to  hurt  him.  He  was  great 
enough  to  forget  the  strikes  and  the  riots,  and  their  shoot 
ing  at  him !  He  forgave  them.  He  saw  why  they  erred, 
and  he  wanted  to  lift  them  out  of  their  hate  and  their 
ignorance.  He  wanted  to  make  their  lives  happier  and 
better  !  Weren't  you  glad  ?  Wasn't  it  a  splendid  answer 
to  his  enemies  I " 

Thus  she  idealized  Powers  Jackson,  that  hoary  old 
he-wolf  of  the  prairies !  Strength  and  tenderness  and 
generosity  she  saw  in  him  and  nothing  else,  and  she 
loved  him  as  she  might  have  loved  her  father,  unques- 
tioningly.  In  his  somewhat  loose  attempt  to  return 
to  the  world  a  part  of  the  wealth  he  had  got  from  it 
perhaps  he  had  justified  the  girl's  vision  of  him.  Fierce 
and  harsh  as  he  had  appeared  to  others,  was  he  not  at 
the  end  hers  rather  than  the  world's  ? 

The  warmth  of  her  feeling  lent  her  quiet  face  glow 
and  beauty.  She  had  spoken  fast,  but  in  a  distinct,  low 
voice,  which  had  a  note  of  appeal  in  it,  coming  from  her 
desire  to  rouse  the  man.  For  the  moment  she  succeeded. 
He  was  ashamed  to  seem  unworthy  in  her  eyes,  to  harbor 
base  thoughts. 


THE  COMMON  LOT  87 

"  Why,  yes,"  he  admitted ;  "  as  you  put  it,  it  seems 
fine.  But  I  don't  feel  sure  that  I  admire  an  old  man's 
philanthropies,  altogether.  He  doesn't  want  the  money 
any  longer,  —  that's  a  sure  thing !  So  he  chucks  it  into 
some  big  scheme  or  other  that's  likely  to  bring  him  a  lot 
of  fame.  Uncle  Powers  was  sharp  enough  in  gathering 
his  dollars,  and  in  keeping  'em  too  so  long  as  he  "  — 

"  Oh  !  How  can  you  say  that  ?  Don't !  "  the  girl 
implored,  looking  at  him  with  troubled  eyes. 

If  she  had  had  much  experience  of  men  and  things,  — 
if  she  had  had  the  habit  of  mean  interpretation, — she  would 
have  understood  the  architect's  perplexity  long  before 
this.  But  added  to  her  inexperience  was  her  persistent 
need  of  soul  to  see  those  she  loved  large  and  generous. 

"  Well,"  Hart  resumed,  more  guardedly,  "  I  didn't 
mean  any  disrespect  to  the  old  man.  It's  only  the  oldest 
law  of  life  that  he  lived  up  to.  And  I  guess  he  meant 
to  have  me  learn  that  law  as  fast  as  I  can.  You've  got 
to  fight  for  what  you  want  in  this  world,  and  fight  hard, 
and  fight  all  the  time.  And  there  isn't  much  room  for 
sentiment  and  fine  ideas  and  philanthropy  until  you  are 
old,  and  have  earned  your  pile,  and  done  your  neighbor 
out  of  his  in  the  process  ! " 

She  was  silent,  and  he  continued,  willing  to  let  her  see 
some  of  the  harder,  baser  reaches  of  his  mind :  — 

"  It's  just  the  same  way  with  art.  It's  only  good  when 
it  succeeds.  It  doesn't  live  unless  it  can  ^succeed  in 
pleasing  people,  in  making  money.  I  see  that  now ! 
Chicago  has  taught  me  that  much  in  two  years.  I'm 
going  to  open  my  own  shop  as  soon  as  I  can  and  look  for 


88  THE   COMMON    LOT 

trade.  That's  what  uncle  wanted  me  to  do.  If  I  get 
some  big  commissions,  and  put  up  a  lot  of  skyscrapers 
or  mills,  why,  I  shall  have  won  out.  What  does  any  one 
care  for  the  kind  of  work  you  do  ?  It's  the  price  it 
brings  every  time !  " 

"  Don't  say  that !  Please,  please  don't  talk  that  way, 
so  bitterly." 

There  was  real  pain  in  her  voice,  and  her  eyes  were 
filmed  with  incipient  tears.  He  leaned  forward  in  his 
low  chair  and  asked  impetuously :  "  Why  do  you  say 
that  ?  Why  do  you  care  what  I  say  ?  " 

Her  lips  trembled ;  she  looked  at  him  piteously  for  a 
moment,  as  if  to  beg  him  not  to  force  her  to  confess 
more  openly  how  he  had  hurt  her,  how  much  she  could 
be  hurt  by  seeing  in  him  the  least  touch  of  baseness. 
She  rose,  without  knowing  what  she  did,  in  an  uncon 
scious  instinct  for  flight.  She  twisted  her  hands 
nervously,  facing  him,  as  he  rose,  too,  with  her  misty, 
honest  eyes. 

"  Tell  me  !  "  he  whispered.     "  Do  you  care  ?  " 

"Don't,"  she  moaned  inarticulately,  seeking  in  her 
whirling  brain  for  some  defence  against  the  man. 

They  hung  there,  like  this,  for  the  space  of  several 
seconds,  their  hearts  beating  furiously,  caught  in  a  sudden 
wave  of  emotion,  which  drew  them  inexorably  closer, 
against  their  reason ;  which  mastered  their  natures  with 
out  regard  for  their  feeble  human  wills.  .  .  . 

He  drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  her.  She  murmured 
in  the  same  weak,  defenceless  tone  as  before,  —  "  Don't, 
not  yet." 


THE   COMMON  LOT  89 

But  she  gave  herself  quite  unreservedly  to  his  strong 
arms.  She  gave  herself  with  all  the  perfect  self-forget- 
fulness  of  an  absolutely  pure  woman  who  loves  and  is 
glad.  The  little  thoughts  of  self  were  forgotten,  the 
preconceptions  of  her  training.  She  was  glad  to  give,  to 
give  all,  in  the  joy  of  giving  to  him  ! 

The  man,  having  thus  done  what  his  reason  had 
counselled  him  for  the  past  week  not  to  do,  what  he  would 
have  said  an  hour  before  was  impossible  for  him  to  do, 
came  out  of  the  great  whelming  wave  of  feeling,  and 
found  himself  alone  upon  the  dark  street  under  the  tran 
quil  canopy  of  the  city  smoke.  His  whole  being  was  at 
rest  after  the  purification  of  strong  passion,  at  rest  and 
at  peace,  with  that  wonderful  sense  of  poise,  of  Tightness 
about  one's  self,  which  comes  when  passion  is  perfect  and 
touches  the  whole  soul.  For  the  fret  about  his  affairs 
and  his  uncle's  will,  in  which  he  had  lived  for  the  past 
week,  had  vanished  with  the  touch  of  the  girl's  lips. 

He  knew  that  he  had  committed  himself  to  a  very 
difficult  future  by  engaging  himself  to  a  poor  woman  and 
struggling  upwards  in  real  poverty,  instead  of  taking  the 
decencies  of  a  comfortable  bachelorhood.  But  there 
was  something  inspiring  in  what  had  happened,  some 
thing  strangely  electrifying  to  his  nerves.  He  had 
stooped  and  caught  the  masculine  burden  of  life,  but  he 
felt  his  feet  a-tingle  for  the  road  before  him.  And,  best 
of ^  all,  there  was  a  new  reverence  in  his  heart  for  that 
unknown  woman  who  had  kissed  him  and  taken  him  to 
her  —  for  always. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"  HELLO,  Jackie  ! " 

Such  familiarity  of  address  on  the  part  of  Wright's 
head  draughtsman  had  long  annoyed  Hart,  but  this  morn 
ing,  instead  of  nodding  curtly,  he  replied  briskly,  — 

"  Hello,  Cookie  ! " 

The  draughtsman  winked  at  his  neighbor  and  thrust 
out  an  elbow  at  a  derisive  angle,  as  he  bent  himself  over 
the  linen  plan  he  was  carefully  inking  in.  The  man 
next  to  him  snickered,  and  the  stenographer  just  outside 
the  door  smiled.  An  office  joke  was  in  the  air. 

"  Mr.  Hart  looks  as  though  somethin'  good  had  hap 
pened  to  him,"  the  stenographer  remarked  in  a  mincing 
tone.  "  Perhaps  some  more  of  his  folks  have  died  and 
remembered  him  in  their  wills." 

But  Cook  dismissed  the  subject  by  calling  out  to  one 
of  the  men,  "  Say,  Ed,  come  over  here  and  tell  me  what 
you  were  trying  to  do  with  this  old  hencoop." 

He  might  take  privileges  with  the  august  E.  Jackson 
Hart,  whose  foreign  training  had  rather  oppressed  the 
office  force  at  times,  but  he  would  not  allow  Gracie 
Bellows,  the  stenographer,  to  "  mix "  in  his  joke. 

Cook  was  a  spare,  black-haired  little  man,  with  beady 
brown  eyes,  like  a  squirrel's.  He  was  a  pure  product  of 

90 


THE   COMMON  LOT  91 

Wright's  Chicago  office,  having  worked  his  way  from  a 
boy's  position  to  the  practical  headship  of  the  force. 
Although  he  permitted  himself  his  little  fling  at  Hart,  he 
was  really  the  young  architect's  warmest  admirer,  ap 
proving  even  those  magnificent  palaces  of  the  French 
Renaissance  type  which  the  Beaux  Arts  man  put  forth 
during  the  first  months  of  his  connection  with  the 
firm. 

The  little  draughtsman,  who  was  as  sharp  as  one  of 
his  own  India  ink  lines,  could  see  that  Hart  had  some 
thing  on  his  mind  this  morning,  and  he  was  curious,  in 
all  friendliness,  to  find  out  what  it  was.  But  Jackson 
did  not  emerge  from  his  little  box  of  an  office  for  several 
hours.  Then  he  sauntered  by  Cook's  table,  pausing  to 
look  out  of  the  window  while  he  abstractedly  lighted  a 
cigarette.  Presently  the  stenographer  caine  up  to  him 
and  said :  — 

"  Mr.  Graves  is  out  there  and  wants  to  see  you  partic 
ular,  Mr.  Hart.  Shall  I  show  him.  into  your  office  ?  " 

"  Ask  him  to  wait,"  the  young  architect  ordered. 

After  he  had  smoked  and  stared  for  a  few  moments 
longer  he  turned  to  Cook. 

"  What  did  we  specify  those  I-beams  for  the  Canostota  ? 
Were  they  forty-twos  or  sixties  ?  " 

Without  raising  his  hand  from  the  minute  lines  of  the 
linen  sheet,  the  draughtsman  grunted :  — 

"Don't  remember  just  what.  Weren't  forty-twos. 
N"othing  less  than  sixties  ever  got  out  of  this  office,  I 
guess.  May  be  eighties.  What's  the  mattter  ?  " 

"  Urn,"  the  architect  reflected,  knocking  his  cigarette 


92  THE   COMMON   LOT 

against  the  table.  "It  makes  a  difference  in  the  sizes 
what  make  they  are,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

"  It  don't  make  any  difference  about  the  weights  ! " 
And  the  draughtsman  turned  to  his  linen  sheet  with  a 
shrug  of  the  shoulders  that  said,  "  You  ought  to  know 
that  much  by  this  time !  " 

The  architect  continued  to  stare  out  of  the  murky 
window. 

"  When  is  Harmon  coming  back  ?  " 

"Ed  lives  out  his  way,  and  he  says  it's  a  long-term 
typhoid.  You  can't  tell  when  he'll  be  back." 

"Has  the  old  man  wired  anything  new  about  his 
plans  ?  " 

"  You'll  have  to  ask  Miss  Bellows.  I  haven't  heard 
anything." 

"  He  said  he'd  be  here  next  Wednesday  or  Thursday 
at  the  latest,  didn't  he  ?  " 

The  draughtsman  stared  hard  at  Hart,  wondering  what 
was  in  the  man's  mind.  But  he  made  no  answer  to  the 
last  remark,  and  presently  the  architect  sauntered  to  the 
next  window. 

As  Jackson  well  knew,  Graves  was  waiting  to  close 
that  arrangement  which  he  had  proposed  for  building  an 
apartment  house.  The  architect  had  intended  to  look 
up  the  Canostota  specifications  before  he  went  further 
with  Graves,  but  he  had  been  distracted  by  other  mat 
ters,  and  had  thought  nothing  more  about  the  troublesome 
I-beams  until  this  morning. 

Jackson  Hart  was  not  given  to  undue  speculation  over 
matters  of  conduct.  He  had  a  serviceable  code  of  busi- 


THE  COMMON  LOT  93 

ness  morals,  which  hitherto  had  met  all  the  demands 
of  his  experience.  He  called  this  code  "professional 
etiquette."  In  this  case  he  was  not  clear  how  the  code 
should  be  applied.  The  Canostota  was  not  his  affair.  It 
was  only  by  the  merest  accident  that  he  had  been  sent 
there  that  day  to  supervise  the  electricians,  and  had  seen 
that  drill-hole,  which  had  led  him  to  question  the  thick 
ness  of  the  I-beams,  and  he  might  very  well  have  been 
mistaken  about  them.  If  there  were  anything  wrong 
with  them,  at  any  rate,  it  was  Wright's  business  to  see 
that  the  contractor  was  properly  watched  when  the  steel 
work  was  being  run  through  the  mill.  And  he  did  not 
feel  any  special  sense  of  obligation  toward  his  employer, 
who  had  never  displayed  any  great  confidence  in  him. 

He  wanted  the  contractor's  commission  now  more  than 
ever,  with  his  engagement  to  Helen  freshly  pricking  him 
to  look  for  bread  and  butter;  wanted  it  all  the  more 
because  any  thought  of  fighting  his  uncle's  will  had  gone 
when  Helen  had  accepted  him.  It  was  now  clearly  his 
business  to  provide  for  his  future  as  vigorously  as  he 
could.  .  .  . 

When  he  rang  for  the  stenographer  and  told  her  to 
show  Graves  into  his  office,  he  had  made  up  his  mind. 
Closing  his  door,  he  turned  and  looked  into  the  con 
tractor's  heavy  face  with  an  air  of  alert  determination. 
He  was  about  to  play  his  own  game  for  the  first  time, 
and  he  felt  the  man's  excitement  of  it ! 
~  The  two  remained  shut  up  in  the  architect's  cubby-hole 
for  over  an  hour.  When  Cook  had  returned  from  the 
restaurant  in  the  basement  where  he  lunched,  and  the 


94  THE   COMMON   LOT 

other  men  had  taken  their  hats  and  coats  from  the  lockers, 
Hart  stepped  out  of  his  office  and  walked  across  the  room 
to  Cook's  table.  He  spread  before  the  draughtsman  a 
fresh  sepia  sketch,  the  water  scarcely  dried  on  it.  It 
was  the  front  elevation  for  a  house,  such  a  one  as  is  de 
scribed  impressively  in  the  newspapers  as  "  Mr.  So-and- 
So's  handsome  country  residence." 

"Now,  that's  what  I  call  a  peach!"  Cook  whistled 
through  his  closed  teeth,  squinting  at  the  sketch  admir 
ingly.  "Nothing  like  that  residence  has  come  out  of 
this  office  for  a  good  long  time.  The  old  man  don't  favor 
houses  as  a  rule.  They're  too  fussy.  Is  this  for  some 
magnate  ?  " 

"This  isn't  done  for  the  firm,"  Jackson  answered 
quickly. 

"Oh!"  Cook  received  the  news  with  evident  disap 
pointment.  "  Just  a  fancy  sketch  ?  " 

"  Not  for  a  minute !  This  is  my  own  business.  It's 
for  a  Mrs.  Phillips  —  her  country  house  at  Forest  Park." 

Cook  looked  again  at  the  elevation  of  the  large  house 
with  admiring  eyes.  If  he  had  ever  penetrated  beyond 
the  confines  of  Cook  County  in  the  state  of  Illinois,  he 
might  have  wondered  less  at  Hart's  creation.  But  he 
was  not  familiar  with  the  Loire  chateaux,  even  in  photo 
graphs,  for  Wright's  tastes  happened  to  be  early  English. 

"  So  you're  going  to  shake  us  ?  "  Cook  asked  regretfully. 

"Just  as  soon  as  I  can  have  a  word  with  Mr. 
Wright.  This  isn't  the  only  job  I  have  on  hand." 

"  Is  that  so  ?     Well,  you're  in  luck,  sure  enough." 

"  Don't  you  want  to  come  in  ?  "  Hart  asked  abruptly. 


THE  COMMON  LOT  95 

"I  shall  want  a  good  practical  man.  How  would  you 
like  to  run  the  new  office  ?  " 

Cook's  manner  froze  unexpectedly  into  caution. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  It's  pretty  good  up  here  looking 
after  Wright's  business." 

Hart  picked  up  his  sketch  and  turned  away. 

"  I  thought  you  might  like  the  chance.  Some  of  the 
men  I  knew  in  Paris  may  join  me  a  little  later,  and  I 
shan't  have  much  trouble  in  making  up  a  good  team." 

Then  he  went  out  to  his  luncheon,  and  when  he 
returned,  he  shut  himself  up  in  his  box,  stalking  by 
Cook's  desk  without  a  word.  When  he  came  forth  again 
the  day's  work  was  over,  and  the  office  force  had  left. 
Cook  was  still  dawdling  over  his  table. 

"  Say,  Hart !  "  he  called  out  to  the  architect.  "  I  don't 
want  you  to  have  the  wrong  idea  about  my  refusing  that 
offer  of  yours.  I  don't  mind  letting  you  know  that  I 
ain't  fixed  like  most  of  the  boys.  I've  got  a  family  to 
look  after,  my  mother  and  sister  and  two  kid  brothers. 
It  isn't  easy  for  us  to  pull  along  on  my  pay,  and  I  can't 
afford  to  take  any  chances." 

"  Who's  asking  you  to  take  chances,  Cookie  ? "  Hart 
answered,  mollified  at  once.  "Perhaps  you  might  do 
pretty  well  by  yourself." 

"  You  see,"  Cook  explained  further,  "  my  sister's  being 
educated  to  teach,  but  she's  got  two  years  more  at  the 
Normal.  And  Will's  just  begun  high  school.  Ed's  the 
only  earner  besides  myself  in  the  whole  bunch,  and  what 
he  gets  don't  count." 

Thereupon  the  architect  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the 


96  THE    COMMON   LOT 

draughting-table  in  friendly  fashion  and  talked  freely  of 
his  plans.  He  hinted  at  the  work  for  Graves  and  at  his 
hopes  of  a  large  commission  from  some  railroad. 

"I  have  ten  thousand  dollars  in  the  bank,  anyway. 
That  will  keep  the  office  going  some  time.  And  I  don't 
mind  telling  you  that  I  have  something  at  stake,  too," 
he  added  in  a  burst  of  confidence.  "  I  am  going  to  be 
married." 

Cook  grinned  sympathetically  over  the  news.  It 
pleased  him  vastly  to  be  told  of  Hart's  engagement  in 
this  confidential  way.  After  some  further  talk  the  mat 
ter  of  the  new  office  was  arranged  between  them  then  and 
there.  Cook  agreed  to  look  into  a  building  that  had 
just  pushed  its  head  among  the  skyscrapers  near  the  Mara- 
manoc,  to  see  if  there  was  anything  left  in  the  top  story 
that  would  answer  their  purposes.  As  they  were  leaving 
the  office,  Hart  stopped,  exclaiming  suddenly :  — 

"  I've  got  to  telephone  !     Don't  wait." 

"  That's  always  the  way,"  the  draughtsman  replied. 
"  You'll  be  telephoning  most  of  the  time,  now,  I  expect ! " 

The  architect  did  not  telephone  to  Helen  Spellman, 
however.  He  called  up  his  cousin's  office  to  tell  Wheeler 
that  he  had  concluded  not  to  contest  the  will. 

"  And,  Everett,"  he  said  frankly,  "  I  guess  I  have  made 
rather  an  ass  of  myself,  telling  you  I  was  going  to  kick 
up  a  row.  I  hope  you  won't  say  anything  about  it." 

The  lawyer  accepted  the  information  without  remark, 
and  hung  up  his  telephone.  He  may  have  wondered  what 
had  brought  about  this  change  of  heart  in  his  cousin,  but 
later,  when  the  news  of  the  engagement  reached  him,  he 


THE   COMMON  LOT  97 

understood.  For  he  knew  Helen  in  a  way  better  than 
her  lover  did,  —  knew  her  as  one  knows  the  desired  and 
unattainable. 

A  few  days  later  Wright  reached  the  office,  and  Hart 
told  him  of  his  plan  to  start  for  himself,  asking  for  an 
early  release  because  important  business  was  waiting  for 
his  entire  attention.  Wright  had  arrived  only  that  morn 
ing  ;  he  was  seated  before  his  broad  desk,  which  was 
covered  to  the  depth  of  several  inches  with  blue  prints, 
type-written  specifications,  and  unopened  mail.  He 
had  been  wrestling  with  contractors  and  clients  every 
minute  since  he  had  entered  the  office,  and  it  was  now 
late  in  the  afternoon. 

"  So  you  are  going  to  try  it  for  yourself  ?  "  he  com 
mented,  a  new  wrinkle  gathering  on  his  clouded  brow.  It 
occurred  to  him  that  Hart  might  be  merely  hinting  politely 
for  an  advance  in  salary,  but  he  dismissed  the  suspicion. 
"  Have  you  had  enough  experience  ?  "  he  asked  bluntly. 

"  I'll  be  likely  to  get  some  more  before  long ! "  Hart 
replied,  irritated  by  the  remark. 

"  I  mean  of  the  actual  conditions  under  which  we  have 
to  build  out  here,  —  the  contractors,  the  labor  market, 
and  so  on  ?  Of  course  you  can  leave  at  once  if  you  wish 
to.  I  shouldn't  want  to  stand  in  your  light  in  any  way. 
It  is  rather  a  bad  time  with  Harmon  home  sick.  But 
we  can  manage  somehow,  draw  on  the  St.  Paul  office  if 
necessary." 

Jackson  murmured  his  regret  for  the  inconvenience  of 
his  departure  at  this  juncture,  and  Wright  said  nothing 


98  THE  COMMON   LOT 

more  for  a  few  minutes.  He  remembered  now  that  some 
one  had  told  him  that  Hart  was  drawing  plans  for  Mrs. 
Phillips.  This  job  had  probably  made  the  young  archi 
tect  ambitious  to  start  for  himself.  He  felt  that  Hart 
should  have  asked  his  consent  before  undertaking  this 
outside  work :  at  least  it  would  have  been  more  delicate 
to  do  so.  But  Wright  was  a  kindly  man,  and  bore  no 
malice.  In  what  he  said  next  to  the  young  architect  he 
was  moved  by  pure  good  will. 

"I  don't  want  to  discourage  you,  Hart,  but  I  know 
what  sort  of  luck  young  fellows,  the  best  of  them,  have 
these  days  when  they  start  a  new  office.  It's  fierce  work 
getting  business,  here  especially." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  Hart  admitted  conventionally. 

"  The  fine  art  side  of  the  profession  don't  count  much 
with  client  or  contractor.  It's  just  a  tussle  all  the  time ! " 
he  sighed,  reflecting  how  he  had  spent  two  hours  of  his 
morning  in  trying  to  convince  a  wealthy  client  of  the 
folly  of  cutting  down  construction  cost  from  fifty  to 
thirty  cents  a  cubic  foot. 

"  You  young  fellows  just  over  from  the  other  side  don't 
always  realize  what  it  means  to  run  an  office.  If  you 
succeed,  you  have  no  time  to  think  of  your  sketches,  ex 
cept  after  dinner  or  on  the  train,  maybe.  And  if  you 
don't  succeed,  you  have  to  grab  at  every  little  job  to  earn 
enough  to  pay  office  expenses." 

Hart's  blank  face  did  not  commit  him  to  this  piece  of 
wisdom. 

"  The  only  time  I  ever  had  any  real  fun  was  when  I 
was  working  for  the  old  firm,  in  New  York.  God !  J 


THE   COMMON   LOT  99 

did  some  pretty  good  things  then.  Old  man  Post  used 
to  trim  me  down  when  I  got  out  of  sight  of  the  clients, 
but  he  let  me  have  all  the  rope  he  could.  And  now,  — 
why  it's  you  fellows  who  have  the  fun ! " 

"  And  you  who  trim  us  down ! "  Hart  retorted,  with 
a  grim  little  smile. 

"  Well,  perhaps.  I  have  to  keep  an  eye  on  all  you  Paris 
men.  You  come  over  here  well  trained,  damned  well 
trained,  —  we  can't  do  anything  like  it  in  this  country,  — 
but  it  takes  a  few  years  for  you  to  forget  that  you  aren't 
in  la  belle  France.  And  some  never  get  over  their  habit 
of  making  everything  French  Kenaissance.  You  aren't 
flexible.  Some  of  you  aren't  creative  —  I  mean,"  he  hast 
ened  to  explain,  getting  warm  on  a  favorite  topic,  "  you 
don't  feel  the  situation  here.  You  copy.  You  try  to 
express  everything  just  as  you  were  taught.  But,  if  you 
want  to  do  big  work,  you  have  got  to  feel  things  for  your 
self,  by  thunder ! " 

Jackson  kept  his  immobile  face.  It  did  not  interest 
him  to  know  what  Wright  thought  of  the  Beaux  Arts 
men.  Yet  he  had  no  intention  of  falling  out  with  Wright, 
who  was  one  of  the  leading  architects  of  the  country,  and 
whose  connection  might  be  valuable  to  him. 

"  I  see  you  don't  care  to  have  me  preach,"  the  older 
man  concluded  humorously.  "  And  you  know  your  own 
business  best." 

He  remembered  that  the  Powers  Jackson  gift  for  a 
school  would  call  sooner  or  later  for  a  large  public  build 
ing.  Probably  the  family  interests  had  arranged  to  put 
this  important  piece  of  work  into  Hart's  hands.  Wright 


100  THE   COMMON   LOT 

hoped  for  the  sake  of  his  art  that  the  trustees  would  put 
off  building  until  the  young  architect  had  developed  more 
independence  and  firmness  of  standard  than  he  had  yet 
shown. 

"I  think  I  understand  a  little  better  than  I  did  two 
years  ago  what  it  takes  to  succeed  here  in  Chicago," 
Jackson  remarked  at  last. 

Wright  shot  a  piercing  glance  at  him  out  of  his  tired 
eyes. 

"  It  means  a  good  many  different  kinds  of  things,"  the 
older  man  said  slowly.  "  Just  as  many  in  architecture 
as  elsewhere.  It  isn't  the  firm  that  is  putting  up  the 
most  expensive  buildings  that  is  always  making  the  big 
gest  success,  by  a  long  shot." 

"  I  suppose  not,"  Hart  admitted. 

And  there  the  conversation  lapsed.  The  older  man  felt 
the  real  impossibility  of  piercing  the  young  architect's 
manner,  his  imperturbability.  "He  doesn't  like  me," 
he  said  to  himself  reproachfully. 

For  he  wanted  to  say  something  to  the  younger  man 
out  of  his  twenty  years  of  experience,  something  concern 
ing  the  eternal  conflict  there  is  in  all  the  professions 
between  a  man's  ideals  of  his  work  and  the  practical 
possibilities  in  the  world  we  have  about  us ;  something, 
too,  concerning  the  necessity  of  yielding  to  the  brute 
facts  of  life  and  yet  not  yielding  everything.  But  he 
had  learned  from  years  of  contact  with  men  the  great 
truth  that  talk  never  saves  a  man  from  his  fate,  espe 
cially  that  kind  of  talk.  A  man  lives  up  to  what  there 
is  in  him,  and  Jackson  Hart  would  follow  the  rule. 


THE  COMMON   LOT  101 

So  he  dug  his  hands  into  the  letters  on  his  desk,  and 
said  by  way  of  conclusion :  — 

"Perhaps  we  can  throw  some  things  your  way. 
There's  a  little  job,  now."  He  held  up  a  letter  he  had 
just  glanced  at.  "They  want  me  to  recommend  some 
one  to  build  a  club-house  at  Oak  Hills.  There  isn't  much 
in  it.  They  can't  spend  more  than  seven  thousand  dollars. 
But  I  had  rather  take  that  than  do  some  other  things ! n 

"  Thank  you ! "  Hart  replied  with  considerable  anima 
tion.  "  Of  course  I  want  every  chance  I  can  get." 

He  took  the  letter  from  Wright's  outstretched  hand. 


CHAPTER  IX 

AFTER  the  few  swift  months  of  spring  and  summer 
they  were  to  be  married,  late  in  the  fall. 

Meanwhile  above  the  lake  at  Forest  Park,  in  a  broad, 
open  field,  Mrs.  Phillips's  great  house  was  rapidly  rising. 
It  was  judged  variously  by  those  who  had  seen  it,  but  it 
altogether  pleased  the  widow ;  and  the  architect  regarded 
it  —  the  first  independent  work  of  his  manhood  —  with 
complacency  and  pride.  Helen  had  not  seen  it  since  the 
walls  had  passed  the  first  story,  when,  one  day  late  in 
September,  she  made  the  little  journey  from  the  city 
with  the  architect,  and  walked  over  to  the  house  from 
the  Shoreham  station,  up  the  lake  road. 

It  was  a  still,  soft  fall  day,  with  all  the  mild  charm  of 
late  summer  that  comes  only  in  this  region.  The  leaves 
still  clung  in  bronzed  masses  to  the  little  oaks ;  a  stray 
maple  leaf  dipped  down,  now  and  then,  from  a  gaudy 
yellow  tree,  and  sailed  like  a  bird  along  their  path. 
There  was  a  benediction  in  the  country,  before  the  dis 
solution  of  winter,  and  the  girl's  heart  was  filled  with  joy. 

"  If  we  could  only  live  here  in  the  country,  Francis  ! " 

"  All  the  year  ?  "  he  queried  doubtfully. 

"Yes,  always  !  Even  the  worst  days  I  should  not  feel 
lonely.  I  shall  never  feel  lonely  again,  anyway." 

102 


THE   COMMON  LOT  103 

As  he  drew  her  hand  close  to  his  breast,  he  said  con 
tentedly,  with  a  large  view  of  their  future :  — 

"  Perhaps  we  can  manage  it  before  long.  But  land  is 
very  dear  in  this  place.  Then  you  have  to  keep  horses 
and  servants,  if  you  want  to  live  comfortably  in  the 
country." 

"  Oh !  I  didn't  think  of  all  that." 

They  walked  slowly,  very  close  together,  neither  one 
anxious  to  reach  the  misty  horizon,  where  in  a  bed  of 
opalescent  gray  lay  the  beautiful  lake.  The  sunshine 
and  the  fruity  odors  of  the  good  earth,  the  tranquil  vistas 
of  bronze  oaks,  set  the  woman  brooding  on  her  nesting 
time,  which  was  so  close  at  hand.  And  the  man  was 
thinking  likewise,  in  his  way,  of  this  coming  event, 
anxiously,  yet  with  confidence.  The  plans  for  the  Grave- 
land,  the  contractor's  big  apartment  house,  were  already 
nearly  finished,  —  and  largely  paid  for.  Very  soon  the 
office  would  be  idle  unless  new  work  came  in,  but  he 
counted  confidently  on  a  number  of  good  things.  There 
were  the  Kainbows,  who  had  moved  to  Shoreham,  having 
made  a  sudden  fortune,  and  were  talking  of  building. 
Then  Mrs.  Phillips,  he  knew,  was  doing  what  she  could 
for  him  with  Colonel  Kaymond.  The  railroad  man  had 
promised  to  look  over  the  new  house  some  day  and  meet 
the  architect.  Buoyant,  convinced  of  his  own  ability, 
he  saw  the  office  crowded  with  commissions  ! 

Suddenly  the  house  shot  up  before  their  eyes,  big  and 
new  in  all  the  rawness  of  fresh  brick  and  stone.  It 
towered  blusteringly  above  the  little  oaks,  a  great  red 
brick  chateau,  with  a  row  of  little  round  windows  in  its 
massive,  thick-tiled  red  roof. 


104  THE   COMMON   LOT 

Helen  involuntarily  stood  still  and  caught  her  breath. 
So  this  was  his ! 

"  Oh ! "  she  murmured.     "  Isn't  it  big,  Francis  ! " 

"  It's  no  three-room  cottage,"  he  answered,  with  a  little 
asperity. 

Then  he  led  her  to  the  front,  where  she  could  get  the 
effect  of  the  two  wings,  the  southerly  terrace  toward  the 
lake,  the  sweeping  drive,  and  the  classic  entrance. 

"  I  know  I  shall  grow  to  like  it,  Francis,"  the  girl  said 
loyally.  "  It  must  be  very  pretty  inside,  with  those 
lovely  French  windows;  and  this  court  is  attractive, 
too." 

She  felt  that  she  was  hurting  her  lover  in  his  tenderest 
spot,  and  she  tried  anxiously  to  find  better  words,  to  show 
him  that  it  was  only  her  ignorance  which  limited  her 
appreciation.  They  strolled  about  among  the  refuse  heaps 
of  the  builders,  viewing  the  place  at  every  angle  in  order 
to  get  all  its  effects.  Just  as  they  were  about  to  enter 
the  house,  there  came  from  the  south  road  the  sound  of 
a  puffing  automobile,  and  presently  Mrs.  Phillips  arrived 
in  a  large  touring  car,  with  some  people  who  had  been 
lunching  with  her  at  the  Shoreham  Club.  They  came 
slowly  up  the  driveway  to  the  house,  talking  and  joking 
in  a  flutter  of  good-natured  comment.  The  architect 
recognized  instantly  the  burly  form  of  Colonel  Raymond. 
He  was  speaking  when  the  car  stopped :  — 

"  Well,  Louise,  you  will  have  to  take  us  all  in  next 
season.  I  didn't  know  you  were  putting  up  a  hotel  like 
this." 

"Hotel!     It  is  a  perfect  palace !"  exclaimed  a  short, 


THE   COMMON  LOT  105 

plump  woman  who  had  some  difficulty  in  dismounting. 
"  I  hope  you  are  going  to  have  a  pergola.  They're  so  nice. 
Every  country  house  has  a  pergola  nowadays." 

"  Why  not  an  English  garden  and  a  yew  hedge  ? " 
added  a  man  who  had  on  the  red  coat  of  the  Hunt  Club. 
"  I  hope  you  will  have  your  stabling  up  to  this,  Mrs. 
Phillips." 

Then  they  recognized  the  architect  and  Helen.  Mrs. 
Phillips  introduced  them  to  her  friends,  and  they  all 
went  inside  to  make  a  tour  of  the  rooms.  The  painters, 
who  were  rubbing  the  woodwork,  looked  curiously  at  the 
invading  party ;  then,  with  winks  among  themselves, 
turned  indifferently  to  their  tasks. 

The  visitors  burst  into  ripples  of  applause  over  the 
hall  with  its  two  lofty  stone  fireplaces,  the  long  draw 
ing-room  that  occupied  the  south  wing  of  the  house, 
the  octagonal  breakfast  room  and  the  dining-room 
in  the  other  wing.  The  architect  led  them  about, 
explaining  the  different  effects  he  had  tried  to  get.  He 
showed  his  work  modestly,  touching  lightly  on  architec 
tural  points  with  a  well-bred  assumption  that  the  visitors 
knew  all  about  such  things.  The  plump  little  woman 
followed  close  at  his  heels,  drinking  in  all  that  he  said. 
Helen  wondered  who  she  might  be,  until,  in  an  eddy  of 
their  progress,  Hart  found  a  chance  to  whisper  to  her, 
"  It's  Mrs.  Rainbow ;  she's  getting  points  ! " 

He  seemed  very  much  excited  about  this,  and  the 
general  good  luck  of  being  able  to  show  these  people  over 
the  house  he  had  made.  After  the  first  floor  had  been 
exhausted,  the  party  drifted  upstairs  in  detachments. 


106  THE   COMMON   LOT 

Helen,  who  had  loitered  after  the  others,  could  hear  her 
lover's  pleasant  voice  as  he  led  the  way  from  suite  to 
suite  above.  The  voices  finally  centred  in  Mrs.  Phillips's 
bathroom,  where  the  sunken  bath  and  the  walls  of 
colored  marble  caused  much  joking  and  laughter.  .  .  . 

"  Can  you  tell  me  if  Mrs.  Phillips  is  here  ?  "  a  voice 
sounded  from  the  door.  Helen  turned  with  a  start. 
The  young  girl  who  asked  the  question  was  dressed  in 
a  riding  habit.  Outside  in  the  court  a  small  party  of 
people  were  standing  beside  their  horses.  The  girl  spoke 
somewhat  peremptorily,  but  before  Helen  had  time  to 
reply,  she  added  more  cordially :  — 

"  Aren't  you  Miss  Spellman  ?     I  am  Venetia  Phillips." 

Then  the  two  smiled  at  each  other  and  shook  hands  in 
the  way  of  women  who  feel  that  they  may  be  friends. 

"I  was  off  with  my  uncle  the  day  you  dined  with 
mamma,"  she  continued,  "  so  I  missed  seeing  you.  Isn't 
this  a  great — barn,  I  was  going  to  say."  She  laughed  and 
caught  herself.  "  I  didn't  remember !  Mamma  likes  it  so 
much.  We  have  just  been  out  with  the  hounds, — the  first 
run  of  the  season.  But  it  was  no  fun,  so  we  came  on  here. 
It's  too  early  to  have  a  real  hunt  yet.  Do  you  ride  ?  " 

They  sat  down  on  the  great  staircase  and  were  at  once 
absorbed  in  each  other.  In  the  meantime  Mrs.  Phillips's 
party  had  returned  from  the  upper  story  by  the  rear 
stairs,  and  were  penetrating  the  mysteries  of  the  service 
quarters.  Jackson  was  showing  them  proudly  all  the 
little  devices  for  which  American  architecture  is  famous 
—  the  interior  telephone  service,  the  laundry  shoots,  the 
electric  dumb-waiters,  the  latest  driers.  These  devices 


THE   COMMON    LOT  107 

aroused  Colonel  Raymond's  admiration,  and  when  the 
others  came  back  to  the  hall  he  took  the  architect  aside 
and  discussed  driers  earnestly  for  several  minutes. 
From  that  they  got  to  the  heating  system,  which  neces 
sitated  a  visit  to  the  basement. 

Mrs.  Phillips  took  this  occasion  to  compliment  Helen 
upon  her  lover's  success  :  — 

"  You  can  be  proud  of  your  young  man,  Miss  Spellman. 
He's  done  a  very  successful  piece  of  work.  Every  one 
likes  it,  and  it's  all  his,  too,"  she  added  generously. 

Helen  found  nothing  to  say  in  reply.  The  widow  was 
not  an  easy  person  for  her  to  talk  to.  On  the  single  other 
occasion  when  they  had  met,  in  Mrs.  Phillips's  city  house, 
the  two  women  had  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  and 
both  had  remained  cold.  The  meeting  of  the  two  women 
had  not  been  all  that  the  architect  had  hoped  it  might 
be ;  for  apart  from  this  house  which  he  was  building,  there 
were  other  of  his  many  ambitions  in  which  Mrs.  Phillips 
could  be  very  helpful  to  them.  He  did  not  intend  that 
Helen  and  he,  when  they  were  married,  should  sink  into 
that  dull,  retired  manner  of  living  that  both  his  mother 
and  Mrs.  Spellman  seemed  to  prefer.  It  would  be  good 
business  for  him  to  enlarge  his  acquaintance  among  the 
rich  as  fast  as  possible. 

So  this  time  when  Helen  found  nothing  amiable  on  the 
tip  of  her  tongue  to  reply,  Mrs.  Phillips  examined  the 
younger  woman  critically,  saying  to  herself,  "She's  a 
cold  piece.  She  won't  hold  him  long ! "  .  .  . 

At  last  the  party  gathered  itself  together  and  left  the 
house.  The  big  touring  car  puffed  up  to  the  door,  and 


108  THE   COMMON   LOT 

the  visitors  climbed  in,  making  little  final  comments  of 
a  flattering  nature  to  please  the  architect,  who  had 
charmed  them  all.  He  was  assiduous  to  the  very  end, 
laughing  again  at  Mrs.  Eainbow's  joke  about  the  marble 
tub,  which  she  repeated  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  had 
not  been  upstairs. 

After  Hart  had  helped  her  to  mount  the  steps  of  the 
car,  she  leaned  over  and  gave  him  her  hand. 

"  So  glad  to  have  met  you,  Mr.  Hart,"  she  said  with 
plump  impressiveness.  ,  "  I  am  sure  if  we  build,  we  must 
come  to  you.  It's  just  lovely,  everything." 

"  I  shall  have  to  give  that  away  to  Rainbow,"  the  colo 
nel  joked.  "  There's  nothing  so  bad  to  eat  up  money  as 
a  good  architect." 

Then  he  shook  hands  cordially  with  Hart,  lit  a  ciga 
rette,  and  swung  himself  to  the  seat  beside  Mrs.  Phillips. 
After  the  car  had  started,  the  riders  mounted.  Hart 
helped  Venetia  Phillips  to  her  seat,  and  slipped  in  a 
word  about  the  hunt.  But  the  girl  leaned  over  on  the 
other  side  toward  Helen,  with  a  sudden  enthusiasm. 

"  I  do  so  want  to  see  you  again,  Miss  Spellman !  But 
I  suppose  you  are  very  busy  now." 

"Oh,  no,"  Helen  protested,  blushing  at  the  girl's  frank 
enthusiasm. 

"  But  when  you  are  married,  can't  I  see  a  lot  of  you  ?  " 

Helen  laughed.  "  Come  and  see  me  whenever  you 
will ! "  she  said,  and  the  two  held  hands  for  a  moment, 
while  the  man  in  the  red  coat  talked  with  the  architect. 

When  they  had  all  gone,  Jackson  turned  to  Helen,  a 
happy  smile  of  triumph  on  his  face. 


THE   COMMON   LOT  109 

"  It  seemed  to  take ! " 

There  had  not  been  one  word  of  comment  on  the  house 
itself,  on  the  building  as  a  home  for  generations  of  people. 
But  Hart  did  not  seem  to  notice  that.  He  was  flushed 
with  the  exhilaration  of  approval. 

"  Yes, "  Helen  answered,  throwing  all  the  animation 
she  could  into  the  words ;  "  I  think  they  all  liked  it." 

She  was  silent,  her  thoughts  full  of  vague  impressions 
gathered  from  the  little  incident  of  the  afternoon. 
There  had  been  revealed  to  her  an  unknown  side  of  her 
lover,  a  worldly  side,  which  accorded  with  his  alert  air, 
his  well-trimmed  mustache,  and  careful  attention  to 
dress.  He  had  been  very  much  at  home  with  all  these 
people,  while  she  had  felt  more  or  less  out  of  her  ele 
ment.  He  knew  how  to  talk  to  them,  how  to  please 
them,  just  as  he  knew  how  to  build  a  house  after  their 
taste  for  luxury  and  display.  Although  he  was  a  poor, 
hardworking  young  architect,  he  could  talk  hunters  or 
motor  cars  or  bridge  whist,  as  the  occasion  demanded. 
Whether  it  was  due  to  his  previous  experience  or  to  an 
instinct  for  luxury,  he  was,  in  fact,  very  much  one  of  them  ! 

She  cast  a  timid  look  at  the  great  fagade  above  them, 
over  which  the  cold  shadows  of  the  autumn  evening  were 
fast  stealing,  leaving  the  building  in  its  nudity  still  more 
hard  and  new  and  raw.  She  was  glad  it  was  not  to  be 
her  fate  to  live  there  in  all  its  grandeur  and  stiff  luxury. 

The  architect  had  to  speak  to  the  superintendent  of 
the  building,  and  Helen  sat  down  on  the  stone  balustrade 
of  the  terrace  to  wait  for  him.  The  painters  were  leav 
ing  their  job,  putting  on  their  coats  as  they  hurried  from 


110  THE  COMMON  LOT 

the  house.  They  scarcely  cast  a  glance  her  way  as  they 
passed  out,  disappearing  into  the  road,  fleeing  from  the 
luxurious  abode  and  the  silent  woods,  which  were  not 
theirs,  to  the  village  and  the  city.  The  girl  mused  idly 
about  them  and  their  lives,  and  about  the  other  people 
who  had  come  there  this  afternoon  to  look  over  the  house, 
and  about  the  house  itself.  She  reflected  how  much  more 
she  liked  the  sketch  Jackson  had  made  of  a  little  club-house 
for  the  Oak  Hills  Country  Club.  It  was  a  rough  little 
affair,  the  suggestion  of  which  the  architect  had  got  from 
a  kodak  of  a  Sicilian  farm-house  he  had  once  taken.  But 
this  great  American  chateau  was  so  different  from  what 
she  had  supposed  her  lover  would  build,  this  caravan 
sary  for  the  rich,  this  toy  where  they  could  hide  them 
selves  in  aristocratic  seclusion  and  take  their  pleasures. 
And  the  thought  stole  into  her  mind  that  he  liked  it,  this 
existence  of  the  rich  and  prosperous,  their  sports  and 
their  luxuries,  —  and  would  want  to  earn  with  the  work 
of  his  life  just  their  pleasures,  their  housing,  their  auto 
mobiles  and  hunters.  It  was  all  strange  to  her  experi 
ence,  to  her  dreams! 

From  the  second  floor  there  came  to  her  the  sound  of 
voices :  — 

"  I  tells  you,  Muster  Hart,  you  got  to  rip  the  whoal 
damn  piping  out  from  roof  to  basement  if  you  wants  to 
have  a  good  yob  of  it.  I  tole  you  that  way  back 
six  weeks  ago.  It  waren't  specified  right  from  the 
beginning." 

"I'll  speak  to  Rollings  about  it  to-morrow  and  see 
what  can  be  done." 


THE   COMMON   LOT  111 

"  That's  what  you  say  every  time,  and  he  don't  do 
nutting,"  the  Swede  growled. 

"  See  here,  Anderson!    Who's  running  this  job?"  .  .  . 

The  girl  strolled  away  from  the  voices  toward  the 
bluff,  where  she  could  see  the  gray  bosom  of  the  lake. 
The  twilight  trees,  the  waveless  lake  soothed  her: 
they  were  real,  her  world,  —  she  felt  them  in  her  soul ! 
The  house  back  there,  the  men  and  women  of  it,  were 
shadows  on  the  marge. 

"  Nell ! "  her  lover  called. 

"  Coming,  Francis." 

When  he  came  up  to  her  she  rested  her  head  on  his 
shoulder,  looking  at  him  with  vague  longing,  desiring  to 
keep  him  from  something  not  clearly  denned  in  her  own 
mind.  Her  lover  drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  her,  once, 
twice,  while  her  eyes  searched  his  wistfully.  She  seemed 
passive  and  cold  in  his  arms.  But  suddenly  she  closed 
her  longing  eyes,  and  her  lips  met  his,  hungrily,  tensely, 
in  the  desire  to  adore,  to  love  abundantly,  which  was  her 
whole  life. 

"  We  must  hurry  to  get  that  train,  —  dear.  When  we 
live  out  here  we'll  have  to  sport  a  motor  car,  won't  we  ?  " 
he  said  buoyantly. 

She  answered  slowly,  "  I  don't  know  that  I  should 
want  to  live  just  here,  after  all." 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  were  crazy  about  the  country ! 
And  I've  been  thinking  it  might  be  the  very  thing  for  us 
to  do.  There's  such  a  lot  of  building  in  these  places 
now  since  business  has  looked  up.  Mrs.  Phillips  has  asked 
me  several  times  why  I  didn't  move  out  here  on  the 


112  THE   COMMON  LOT 

shore.  Just  before  she  left  to-day  she  said  in  a  joking 
way  that  if  I  wanted  to  build  a  lodge  for  her,  I  might 
take  it  foj  a  year  or  so.  Of  course  that's  a  joke.  But  I 
know  she's  bought  lately  a  lot  more  property  on  the 
ravine,  and  she  might  be  willing  to  let  me  have  a  small 
bit  on  reasonable  terms.  She's  been  so  friendly  all  along ! " 

He  was  still  in  the  flush  of  his  triumph,  and  talked 
rapidly  of  all  the  plans  that  opened  out  before  his  fervent 
ambition.  Suddenly  he  took  note  of  the  girl's  mood  and 
said  sharply,  "  Nell,  I  believe  you  don't  like  her ! " 

"  Why  do  you  say  that !  "  she  exclaimed,  surprised  in 
her  inner  thoughts.  "  I  don't  really  know." 

"  Why,  it's  plain  enough.  You  never  talk  to  her.  You 
are  always  so  cold !  Louise  is  a  chatty  person ;  she  likes 
to  have  you  make  an  effort  for  her.  And  you  treated  Mrs. 
Eainbow  in  the  same  way." 

"  Oh,  Francis !  I  didn't  mean  to  be  cold.  Ought  I  to 
like  them  if  you  are  to  do  work  for  them  ?  " 

Her  lover  laughed  at  her  simplicity.  Nevertheless,  he 
felt  somewhat  disturbed  at  Helen's  indifference  to  the 
social  aspect  of  their  marriage  venture.  He  wished  to 
make  a  proper  stir  in  the  puddle,  and  he  was  beginning 
to  suspect  that  Helen  had  little  aptitude  for  this  distinc 
tively  woman's  side  of  matrimony. 

"  Rich  people  always  puzzle  me,"  she  continued  apolo 
getically.  "  They  always  have,  except  uncle  Powers,  and 
you  never  thought  of  him  as  rich !  I  don't  feel  as  if  I 
knew  what  they  liked.  They  are  so  much  preoccupied 
with  their  own  affairs.  That  other  time  when  I  met 
Mrs.  Phillips  she  was  very  much  worried  over  the  break- 


THE   COMMON   LOT  113 

fast  room  and  the  underbutler's  pantry!  What  is  an 
underbutler's  pantry,  Francis  ?  " 

This  raillery  over  the  needs  of  the  rich  sounded  almost 
anarchistic  to  the  architect  in  his  present  mood,  and  they 
walked  to  the  station  silently  in  the  gathering  darkness. 
But  after  a  time,  on  the  train,  he  returned  to  the  events 
of  the  afternoon,  remarking  with  no  relevancy:  — 

"She  can  do  anything  she  likes  with  Eaymond.  It 
would  be  a  big  stroke  to  get  that  railroad  business ! " 

As  Helen  made  no  reply  to  this  observation,  they  sank 
again  into  silent  thought. 

The  night  before  their  marriage  the  architect  told  her 
exultantly  that  Colonel  Raymond  had  sent  for  him  that 
afternoon  to  talk  over  work  for  the  railroad  corporation. 

"  That's  Mrs.  Phillips's  doing,"  he  told  Helen.  "  You 
must  remember  to  say  something  to  her  about  it  to-mor 
row  if  you  get  the  chance.  It's  likely  to  be  the  biggest 
wedding  present  we'll  have !  " 

"  I  am  glad ! "  Helen  replied  simply,  without  further 
comment. 

He  thought  that  she  did  not  comprehend  what  this 
good  fortune  would  mean  to  them.  And  he  was  quite 
mystified  when  she  sent  him  away  and  refused  to  see  him 
again  before  the  ceremony  of  the  following  day.  He 
could  not  realize  that  in  some  matters  —  a  few  small 
matters  —  he  had  bruised  the  woman's  ideal  of  him;  he 
could  not  understand  why  these  last  hours,  before  she 
took  him  to  her  arms  forever,  she  wished  to  spend  alone 
with  her  own  soul  in  a  kind  of  prayer.  .  .  . 
i 


114  THE   COMMON   LOT 

There  were  only  a  few  people  present  at  the  marriage 
in  the  little  Maple  Street  house  the  next  day.  Many  of 
their  more  fashionable  friends  still  lingered  away  from 
the  city  although  it  was  late  in  October.  Mrs.  Phillips 
had  made  a  point  of  coming  to  the  wedding,  even  putting 
off  a  projected  trip  to  New  York,  and  after  much  urging 
she  had  been  made  to  bring  Venetia,  who  was  strangely 
bent  on  going  to  this  wedding.  Pemberton,  an  old  friend 
of  the  Spellmans,  who  had  recently  been  asked  to  join  the 
Powers  Jackson  trustees,  was  there,  and  also  little  Cook, 
who  was  the  backbone  of  the  new  office.  Everett  Wheeler 
was  the  best  man.  He  and  Hollister  had  put  off  their 
yearly  fishing  trip  to  do  honor  to  Jackson  Hart,  who  had 
won  their  approval,  because  the  young  man  had  swal 
lowed  his  disappointment  about  the  will  and  was  going 
to  marry  a  poor  girl.  Hollister  and  Pemberton  had 
brought  Judge  Phillips  with  them,  because  he  was  in 
town  and  liked  weddings  and  ought  to  send  the  pair  a 
goodly  gift.  Of  the  presence  of  all  these  and  some 
others  the  young  architect  was  agreeably  conscious  that 
October  day. 

Only  that  morning,  on  the  way  to  the  house,  Everett 
had  referred  to  the  great  school  building,  a  monumental 
affair,  which  the  trustees  would  have  to  build  some  day. 
He  said  nothing  that  might  commit  the  trustees  in  any 
way.  Nevertheless,  it  was  in  the  aroma  of  this  new 
prospect,  and  of  all  the  other  good  fortune  which  had 
come  to  him  since  he  had  taken  up  his  burden  of  poverty, 
that  Jackson  Hart  was  married. 

But  Helen  walked  up  to  him  to  be  married,  in  a  dream, 


THE  COMMON   LOT  115 

unconscious  of  the  whole  world,  with  a  mystery  of  love 
in  her  heart.  When  the  ceremony  was  over,  she  looked 
up  into  her  husband's  resolute  face,  which  was  slightly 
flushed  with  excitement.  Venetia,  standing  by  her 
uncle's  side  a  few  steps  away,  could  see  tears  in  the 
bride's  eyes,  and  the  girl  wondered  in  her  heart  what  it 
meant. 

Did  the  woman  know  now  that  the  man  who  stood 
there  face  to  face  with  her,  her  husband,  was  yet  a 
stranger  to  her  soul  ?  She  raised  her  lips  swiftly  to 
him,  as  if  to  complete  the  sacrament,  and  there  before 
all  he  bowed  his  head  to  kiss  her. 


PART  II 
THE   STRUGGLE 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  Lady  Venetia  de  Phillips,  as  the  young  woman 
used  to  call  herself  in  the  doll  age,  had  never  set  foot  in 
a  common  street  car,  or,  indeed,  in  anything  more  public 
than  a  day  coach  on  the  suburban  train ;  and  in  that  only 
because  the  railroad  had  not  found  it-  profitable  to  pro 
vide  as  yet  in  that  service  a  special  coach  for  her  class. 
For  Mrs.  Phillips,  who  had  known  what  it  was  to  ride  in 
an  Ottumwa  buggy,  comfortably  cushioned  by  the  stout 
arm  of  an  Ottumwa  swain,  understood  intuitively  the 
cardinal  principle  of  class  evolution,  which  is  separation. 
Therefore  she  had  carefully  educated  her  children  accord 
ing  to  that  principle. 

So  it  happened  shortly  before  Mrs.  Phillips  had  taken 
possession  of  her  new  home  that  Miss  Phillips,  wishing 
to  pay  a  visit  to  her  new  friend  who  lived  on  the  North 
Side  of  the  city,  was  driving  in  her  mother's  victoria,  in 
dignity,  according  to  her  estate.  Beside  her  sat  her  fav 
orite  terrier,  Pete,  scanning  the  landscape  of  the  dirty 
streets  through  which  they  were  obliged  to  pass  from 
the  South  to  the  North  Side.  Suddenly,  as  the  carriage 
turned  a  corner,  Pete  spied  a  long,  lank  wharf  rat,  of  a 
kind  that  did  not  inhabit  his  own  more  cleanly  neighbor 
hood.  The  terrier  took  one  impulsive  leap  between  the 

119 


120  THE   COMMON   LOT 

wheels  of  the  victoria,  and  was  off  up  Illinois  Street  after 
the  rat.  It  was  a  good  race ;  the  Lady  Venetia's  sport 
ing  blood  rose,  and  she  ordered  the  coachman  to  follow. 
Suddenly  there  dashed  from  an  alley  a  light  baker's 
wagon,  driven  by  a  reckless  youth.  Pete,  unmindful  of 
the  clattering  wagon,  intent  upon  his  loping  prey,  was 
struck  full  in  the  middle  of  his  body :  two  wheels  passed 
diagonally  across  him,  squeezing  him  to  the  pavement 
like  an  india-rubber  ball.  For  a  moment  he  lay  there 
stretched  in  the  street,  and  then  he  dragged  himself  to 
the  sidewalk,  filling  the  air  with  hideous  howls.  The 
passers-by  stopped,  but  the  reckless  youth  in  the  baker's 
wagon,  having  leaned  out  to  see  what  damage  had  been 
done,  grinned,  shook  his  reins,  and  was  off. 

Before  the  coachman  had  brought  the  victoria  to  a  full 
stop  Venetia  was  out  and  across  the  street.  Pete  had 
crawled  into  an  alley,  where  he  lay  in  a  little  heap, 
moaning.  When  his  mistress  tried  to  gather  him  into 
her  skirt  he  whimpered  and  showed  his  teeth.  Some 
thing  was  radically  wrong !  The  small  boys  who  had 
gathered  advised  throwing  Pete  into  the  river,  and  offered 
to  do  the  deed.  But  Venetia,  the  tears  falling  from  her 
eyes,  turned  back  into  the  street  to  take  counsel  with  the 
coachman.  A  young  man  who  was  hurrying  by,  swing 
ing  a  little  satchel  and  whistling  to  himself,  stopped. 

"  What's  up  ?  "  he  asked,  ceasing  to  whistle  at  sight 
of  the  girl's  tears. 

Venetia  pointed  to  the  dog,  and  the  stranger,  pushing 
the  small  boys  aside,  leaned  over  Pete. 

"Gee!    he's   pretty   well   mashed,   ain't  he?      Here, 


THE   COMMON   LOT  121 

Miss,  I'll  give  him  a  smell  of  this  and  send  him  to 
by-by." 

He  opened  his  little  satchel  and  hunted  for  a  bottle. 
Venetia  timidly  touched  his  arm. 

"  Please  don't  kill  him  ! " 

"  That 's  just  what  I'm  going  to  do,  sure  thing ! "  He 
paused,  with  the  little  vial  in  his  hand,  and  looked  coolly 
at  the  girl.  "  You  don't  want  the  pup  to  suffer  like  that  ?  " 

"  But  can't  he  be  saved  ?  " 

The  stranger  looked  again  at  Pete,  then  back  at  Venetia. 
Finally  he  tied  a  handkerchief  over  the  dog's  mouth,  and 
began  to  examine  him  carefully. 

"Let's  see  what  there's  left  of  you  after  the  mix-up, 
Mr.  Doggie.  We'll  give  you  the  benefit  of  our  best  atten 
tion  and  skill,  —  more'n  most  folks  ever  get  in  this  world, 
—  because  you  are  the  pet  of  a  nice  young  lady.  If  you 
were  just  an  alley -cat,  you  wouldn't  even  get  the  chloro 
form.  Well,  Miss,  he'd  have  about  one  chance  in  a  hun 
dred,  after  he  had  that  hind  leg  cut  off." 

"  Are  you  a  doctor  ?  Do  you  think  that  you  could  cure 
him  ?  Mamma  will  be  very  glad  to  pay  you  for  your 
services." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  the  stranger  remarked.  "  How  do  you 
know  that  my  services  don't  come  too  high  for  your 
mother's  purse  ?  Well,  come  on,  pup !  We'll  see  what 
can  be  done  for  you." 

Drawing  the  improvised  muzzle  tighter,  he  gathered 
Pete  up  in  a  little  bundle.  Then  he  strode  down  the 
street  to  the  west.  The  coachman  drew  up  beside  the 
curb  and  touched  his  hat. 


122  THE   COMMON   LOT 

"  Won't  you  get  in  ?  "  Venetia  asked. 

"It's  only  a  step  or  so  to  my  place,"  he  answered 
gruffly.  "  You  can  follow  me  in  the  carriage." 

But  she  kept  one  hand  on  Pete,  and  walked  beside  the 
stranger  until  he  stopped  at  an  old,  one-story,  wooden 
cottage.  Above  the  door  was  painted  in  large  black 
letters,  "  S.  COBURN,  M.D.,  PHYSICIAN  AND  SURGEON." 

"  May  I  come  in  ?  "  the  girl  asked  timidly. 

"Sure!  Why  would  I  keep  you  sitting  on  the  door 
step  ?  " 

Inside  there  was  a  little  front  hall  apparently  used  as 
a  waiting-room  for  patients.  Back  of  this  was  a  large 
bare  room,  occupying  the  remaining  floor  space  of  the 
cottage,  into  which  the  doctor  led  the  way.  A  wooden 
bench  extended  the  entire  length  of  this  room  under 
neath  a  row  of  rough  windows,  which  had  been  cut  in 
the  wall  to  light  the  bench.  Over  in  one  corner  was  a 
cot,  with  the  bedclothes  negligently  dragging  on  the 
floor.  Near  by  was  an  iron  sink.  On  a  table  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  carefully  guarded  by  a  glass  case, 
was  a  complex  piece  of  mechanism  which  looked  to  the 
girl  like  one  of  the  tiresome  machines  her  teacher  of 
physics  was  wont  to  exhibit. 

"My  laboratory,"  the  doctor  explained  somewhat 
grandly. 

Venetia  stepped  gingerly  across  the  cluttered  floor, 
glancing  about  with  curiosity.  The  doctor  placed  the 
dog  on  the  table  and  turned  on  several  electric  lights. 

"You'll  have  to  help  at  this  performance,"  he  re 
marked,  taking  off  his  coat. 


THE   COMMON  LOT  123 

Together  they  gave  Pete  an  opiate  and  removed  the 
muzzle.  The  doctor  then  turned  him  over  and  poked 
him  here  and  there. 

"  Well,"  he  pronounced,  "  Pete  has  a  full  bill.  Com 
pound  fracture,  broken  rib,  and  mashed  toes.  And  I 
don't  know  what  all  on  the  inside.  He  has  a  slim 
chance  of  limping  around  on  three  legs.  Shall  I  give 
him  some  more  dope  ?  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Pete  was  a  gamy  dog,"  Venetia  replied  thoughtfully. 
"  I  think  he  would  like  to  have  all  his  chances." 

"  Good ! "  The  doctor  tossed  aside  the  sponge  that 
he  had  held  ready  to  give  Pete  his  farewell  whiff.  He 
told  the  girl  how  to  hold  the  dog,  and  how  to  touch 
the  sponge  to  his  nose  from  time  to  time.  They  were 
absorbed  in  the  operation  when  the  coachman  pushed 
his  way  into  the  room. 

"What  shall  I  do,  Miss,  about  the  horses?  Mis' 
Phillips  gave  particler  instructions  I  wasn't  to  stay  out 
after  five-thurty.  It's  most  that  now." 

"  Tell  him  to  go  home,"  the  doctor  ordered.  "  We'll 
be  an  hour  more." 

"But  how  shall  I  get  home  then?"  the  girl  asked, 
perplexed. 

"On  your  feet,  I  guess,  same  as  most  folks,"  the 
doctor  answered,  testing  a  knife  on  his  finger.  "And 
the  cars  ain't  stopped  running  on  the  South  Side,  have 
they?" 

M I  don't  know.  I  never  use  them,"  Venetia  replied 
helplessly. 

The   doctor    put    the  knife  down    beside   Pete  and 


124  THE   COMMON  LOT 

looked  at  the  girl  from  her  head  to  her  feet,  a  teasing 
smile  creeping  over  his  swarthy  face. 

"Well,  it's  just  about  time  for  you  to  find  out  what 
they're  good  for.  I'll  take  you  home  myself  just  to 
see  how  you  like  them.  You  won't  get  hurt,  not  a  bit. 
You  may  go,  Thomas  !  "  He  waved  his  hand  ironically 
to  the  coachman.  "  And  when  you  go  out,  be  good 
enough  to  slip  the  latch.  We  have  a  little  business  to 
attend  to  in  here,  and  don't  want  to  be  interrupted." 

When  the  coachman  had  left,  Venetia  turned  to  the 
doctor  with  a  red  face,  and  copying  her  mother's  most 
impressive  tones,  asked :  — 

"  What  would  you  like  me  to  do  now,  Dr.  Coburn  ?  " 

"  Nothing  special.  Turn  your  back  if  you  don't  like 
to  see  me  take  a  chop  out  of  doggie." 

He  laughed  at  her  dignity ;  therefore  she  kept  her  face 
turned  resolutely  on  poor  Pete.  She  could  not  help  be 
ing  interested  in  the  man  as  she  watched  his  swift  move 
ments.  The  doctor  was  stocky  and  short,  black-haired, 
with  a  short  black  mustache  that  did  not  disguise  the 
perpetual  sardonic  smile  of  his  lips.  She  noticed  that 
his  trousers  were  very  baggy  and  streaked  at  the  bottoms 
with  mud.  They  were  the  trousers  of  a  man  who,  accord 
ing  to  her  experience,  was  not  a  gentleman.  The  frayed 
cravat,  which  showed  its  cotton  filling,  belonged  to  the 
same  category  as  the  trousers.  But  there  was  something 
in  the  fierce  black  eyes,  the  heavy  jaw,  the  nervous  grip 
of  the  lips  when  the  man  was  thinking,  that  awed  the 
girl.  The  more  Venetia  looked  at  him,  the  more  she  was 
afraid  of  him. ;  not  afraid  that  he  would  do  any  harm  to 


THE   COMMON   LOT  125 

Aer,  but  vaguely  afraid  of  his  strength,  his  force.  His 
bare  arms  were  thick  and  hairy,  although  the  fingers 
were  supple,  and  he  touched  things  lightly.  Altogether 
he  was  a  strange  person  in  her  little  world,  and  somewhat 
terrifying. 

The  doctor  talked  all  the  time,  while  he  worked  swiftly 
over  the  dog,  describing  to  the  girl  just  what  he  was 
doing.  Venetia  watched  him  without  flinching,  though 
the  tears  would  roll  down  her  face.  She  put  one  hand 
under  Pete's  limp  head  to  hold  it,  as  she  would  have 
liked  to  have  her  head  held  under  the  same  circum 
stances.  At  last  the  doctor  straightened  himself  and 
exclaimed :  — 

"Correct!  He's  done  up  in  first-class  style."  He 
went  to  the  sink  and  washed  his  arms  and  hands.  "  Yes, 
Peter  is  as  well  patched  as  if  the  great  Dr.  Cutem  had 
done  it  himself  and  charged  you  ten  thousand  dollars  for 
the  job.  I  donno'  but  it's  better  done.  And  he  would 
have  charged  you  all  right ! "  He  gave  a  loud,  ironical 
laugh  and  swashed  the  water  over  his  bare  arms.  Then 
he  came  back  to  the  operating  table,  wiping  his  hands  and 
arms  on  a  roller  towel  that  was  none  too  clean. 

"You  can  quit  that  sponge  now,  Miss,  and  I  guess 
doggie  won't  appreciate  the  little  attention  of  holding 
his  head  yet  awhile.  He  hasn't  got  to  the  flower-and- 
fruit  stage  yet,  have  you,  eh,  purp  ?  " 

Venetia  stood  like  a  little  girl,  awkwardly  waiting 
for  orders. 

"  What's  your  name  ?  "  the  doctor  demanded  abruptly. 

"Venetia  — Venetia  Phillips." 


128  THE   COMMON  LOT 

"Well,  Miss  Venetia,  you  seem  fond  of  animals. 
Would  you  like  to  see  my  collection  ? " 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  he  strode  to  the  farther 
end  of  the  room  and  opened  a  trap-door. 

"  Come  over  here ! " 

The  girl  peeped  through  the  trap-door  into  the  cellar. 
There,  in  a  number  of  pens,  were  huddled  a  small  menage 
rie  of  animals,  —  dogs,  cats,  guinea-pigs,  rabbits. 

"  What  do  you  do  with  all  of  them  ?  "  the  girl  asked, 
her  heart  sinking  with  foreboding. 

"  Cut  'em  up ! " 

"  Cut  them  up  ?  " 

"  Sure !  And  dose  'em.  This  is  an  experimental 
laboratory."  The  doctor  waved  his  hand  rather  grandly 
over  the  dirty  room.  "There  are  not  many  like  it  in 
the  city  of  Chicago,  I  can  tell  you.  I  am  conducting 
investigations,  and  I  use  these  little  fellers." 

"It's  horrid!"  the  girl  exclaimed,  looking  apprehen 
sively  at  Pete. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it ! "  The  doctor  reached  down  his  hand 
and  pulled  up  a  rabbit,  a  little  mangy  object,  which  tot 
tered  a  few  steps  and  then  fell  down  as  if  dizzy.  "  Jack's 
had  fifteen  drops  of  the  solution  of  hydrochlorate  of 
manganese  this  morning.  He  looks  kind  of  dopy,  don't 
he  ?  He'll  be  as  smart  as  a  trivet  to-morrow.  But  I 
guess  he's  about  reached  his  limit  of  hydrochlorate,  eh, 
Jack  ?  " 

In  spite  of  herself  the  girl's  curiosity  was  aroused,  and 
when  the  doctor  had  returned  Jack  to  his  pen,  she  asked, 
"  What's  that  queer  machine  over  there  ?  " 


THE  COMMON   LOT  127 

"  That's  to  pump  things  into  your  body,  to  squirt  medi 
cines  into  you,  instead  of  dropping  them  into  your 
tummy  loose,  as  doctors  usually  do.  See  ?  When  I  stick 
this  long  needle  into  you  and  work  this  handle,  a  little 
stream  of  the  thing  I  want  to  give  you  is  pumped  into 
your  body  at  the  right  spot.  Have  you  got  anything  the 
matter  with  your  liver  ?  I  am  working  on  livers  just 
now.  Would  you  like  to  have  me  try  it  on  you  ?  No ! 
I  thought  not.  That's  why  Jack  has  to  take  his  dose 
every  morning." 

He  went  into  his  explanation  more  thoroughly,  and 
they  talked  of  many  things  that  were  as  wonderful  to 
Venetia,  brought  up  in  the  modern  city  of  Chicago,  as  if 
she  had  come  out  of  Thibet. 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  leave  Pete  here,"  she  said 
at  last.  "  May  I  come  to  see  him  sometimes  ?  " 

"  Sure !  As  often  as  you  like.  I'm  generally  in  after 
noons.  I'll  telephone  if  the  patient's  pulse  gets  feeble  or 
his  temperature  goes  up." 

"  You  needn't  make  fun  of  me !  And  I  think  I  can  find 
my  way  home  alone,"  she  added,  as  the  doctor  took  his 
hat  from  the  table  and  jammed  it  on  his  head. 

"  I  said  I'd  go  home  with  you.  I  am  not  going  to  miss 
seeing  you  take  that  first  ride  on  the  cable,  not  much ! 
Perhaps  you  won't  mind  walking  across  the  bridge  and 
up  the  avenue  to  the  cable  line  ?  It's  a  pretty  evening, 
and  it  will  do  you  good  to  take  the  air  along  the 
fiver." 

So  the  two  started  for  the  city  and  crossed  the  busy 
thoroughfare  of  the  Rush  Street  Bridge  just  as  the  twi- 


128  THE    COMMON   LOT 

light  was  touching  the  murky  waters  of  the  river.  The 
girl  was  uncomfortably  conscious  that  the  man  by  her 
side  was  a  very  shabbily  dressed  escort.  She  was  glad 
that  the  uncertain  light  would  hide  her  from  any  of  her 
acquaintances  that  might  be  driving  across  the  bridge 
at  this  hour.  The  doctor  seemed  to  be  in  no  hurry ;  he 
paused  on  the  bridge  to  watch  a  tug  push  a  fat  grain  boat 
up  the  river,  until  they  were  almost  caught  by  the  turning 
draw. 

"  That's  a  fine  sight !  "  he  remarked. 

"  Yes,  the  sunset  is  beautiful,"  she  replied  convention- 
ally. 

"  No !  I  mean  that  big  vessel  loaded  with  grain. 
That's  what  you  live  on :  it's  what  you  are,  —  that  and 
a  lot  of  dirty  cattle  over  in  the  pens  of  the  stock  yard. 
That's  you,  Miss  Venetia,  —  black  hair,  pink  cheeks,  and 
all ! " 

"  What  a  very  materialistic  way  of  looking  at  life !  " 
Venetia  replied  severely. 

"  Lord,  child ! "  the  doctor  exclaimed  ironically. 
"  Who  taught  you  that  horrid  word  ? "  Then  he  pro 
ceeded  to  give  her  a  little  lecture  on  the  beauties  of  physi 
ology,  which  occupied  her  attention  all  the  way  to  the 
cable  car,  so  that  she  forgot  her  snobbish  anxieties. 

The  car  was  crowded,  and  no  one  of  the  tired  men  who 
were  reading  their  newspapers  was  gallant  enough  to 
offer  her  a  seat.  So  she  was  obliged  to  stand  crowded  in 
a  corner,  swaying  from  a  strap  overhead,  while  the  per 
sistent  doctor  told  her  all  about  the  car,  the  motive 
power,  the  operatives,  the  number  of  passengers  carried 


THE  COMMON   LOT  129 

daily,  the  dispute  over  the  renewal  of  the  franchise  for 
the  road,  and  kindred  matters  of  common  concern. 

"  Now,  it's  likely  enough  some  of  your  folks  own  a 
block  of  watered  stock  in  this  concern,"  he  concluded  in 
his  clear,  high  voice,  that  made  itself  felt  above  the  rattle 
of  the  car.  "  And  you  are  helping  to  pay  them  their  divi 
dends.  Some  day,  though,  maybe  the  rest  of  us  won't 
want  to  go  on  paying  them  five  cents  to  ride  in  their  old 
cars.  Then  the  water  will  dry  up,  the  stock  will  go  down, 
and  perhaps  you'll  have  one  or  two  dresses  less  every 
year.  You'll  remember  then  I  told  you  the  reason  why  !  " 

Venetia  had  heard  enough  about  stocks  and  bonds  to 
know  that  a  good  deal  of  the  Phillips  money  was  in 
vested  in  the  City  Railway.  But  she  had  also  learned 
from  her  earliest  youth  that  it  was  very  vulgar  for  a 
man  to  discuss  money  matters  with  a  girl.  Further 
more,  peering  about  the  crowded  conveyance,  she  had 
caught  sight  of  Porter  Howe,  one  of  her  brother 
Stanwood's  friends.  He  was  looking  at  her  and  the 
doctor,  and  she  began  to  feel  uncomfortable  again.  It 
had  never  occurred  to  her  that  the  young  men  of  her 
class  were  in  the  habit  of  using  the  street  cars,  at  least 
until  they  had  reached  those  assured  positions  at  the 
head  of  industry  which  always  awaited  them. 

So  the  novelty  of  the  ride  in  the  public  car  had  some 
thing  of  torture  in  it,  and  she  was  glad  enough  to  escape 
through  the  front  door  at  Eighteenth  Street. 
.  "  Won't  you  come  in  ?  "  she  asked  the  doctor  politely 
when  they  came  to  the  formidable  pile  of  red  brick 
where  she  lived. 


130  THE   COMMON   LOT 

"  Thanks !  I  guess  not  to-day.  I  don't  believe  your 
folks  will  want  me  to  stay  to  supper,  and  I  am  getting 
hungry.  Hope  you  enjoyed  your  ride.  Some  day  I'll 
come  and  take  you  for  a  trolley  ride  somewhere  else." 

He  shook  her  hand  vigorously  and  laughed.  Then 
he  started  briskly  for  the  city,  his  hands  thrust  in  his 
trousers  pockets,  his  black  felt  hat  drawn  forward 
over  his  brows.  But  Venetia  had  barely  mounted  the 
first  bank  of  steps  before  she  heard  her  name  called 
in  a  loud  voice  from  the  street. 

"  Say,  Miss  Venetia ! " 

The  doctor  was  shouting  back  to  her,  one  hand  at  the 
side  of  his  mouth. 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  that  pup !  I  think  I  can 
bring  him  round  all  right." 

She  nodded  nervously  and  stepped  into  the  vestibule 
with  a  sense  of  relief  from  her  companion.  She  knew 
that  Dr.  Coburn  was  what  her  brother  called  a  "  mucker," 
and  her  mother  spoke  of  as  a  "fellow."  Yet  she  felt 
that  there  was  something  in  the  man  to  be  respected, 
and  this  insight,  it  may  be  said,  distinguished  Miss 
Venetia  from  her  mother  and  her  brother. 


CHAPTER  XI 

PETE  was  a  very  sick  dog,  but  as  Dr.  Coburn  boasted, 
no  pampered  patient  in  a  private  hospital  ever  had 
better  care.  Ultimately  he  recovered  from  his  opera 
tion  and  went  about  gayly  on  three  legs,  but  not  until 
Venetia  had  made  a  good  many  visits  to  the  squalid 
"  laboratory  "  and  had  come  to  feel  very  much  at  home 
among  the  animals  and  scientific  apparatus  that  the 
eccentric  young  doctor  had  gathered  about  him.  Mrs. 
Phillips,  naturally,  had  not  consented  to  these  visits 
to  the  "dog  doctor,"  as  she  persisted  in  calling  Pete's 
saviour,  until  Venetia  had  enlisted  the  services  of  Helen 
as  chaperon.  Then,  being  very  much  occupied  these 
days  with  furnishing  the  new  house,  she  paid  little  at 
tention  to  Venetia's  long  afternoons  spent  in  the  com 
pany  of  the  architect's  wife. 

These  visits  were,  perhaps,  the  most  educational 
experiences  that  the  girl  had  ever  had.  One  day  she 
and  Helen  had  watched  the  doctor  take  apart  the  queer- 
looking  pump  that  occupied  the  post  of  honor  in  the 
laboratory,  examined  the  delicate  valves  of  the  machine, 
and  learned  the  theory  of  its  use.  Once  they  got  cour 
age  to  witness  voluntarily  its  application  on  a  rabbit. 
Venetia  winced  nervously  when  she  saw  the  long  gold 

131 


132  THE   COMMON  LOT 

needle  sink  into  the  tender  breast  of  the  small  beast, 
the  muscles  relax,  the  heart  stop  beating  altogether ; 
but  she  worked  one  of  the  valves  of  the  pump  steadily 
as  the  doctor  directed. 

"  Ain't  that  quick  work  ! "  he  shouted  enthusiastically. 
"It  didn't  take  the  stuff  thirty  seconds  to  strike  the 
right  spot." 

Venetia  nodded  her  head  gravely,  as  he  proceeded  step 
by  step  in  his  demonstration.  When  he  finished  she 
asked  with  a  gravity  that  made  Helen  smile:  — 

"  Aren't  you  a  very  celebrated  man  ?  " 

Even  her  world  paid  some  respect  to  notable  achieve 
ments  in  science,  and  she  had  heard  Judge  Phillips  speak 
admiringly  of  certain  recent  discoveries  by  a  famous 
physiologist.  The  doctor,  however,  roared  with  ironic 
laughter. 

"Not  celebrated  exactly!  At  the  medical  societies 
they  call  me  the  crazy  fakir.  I  don't  believe  there's  a 
first-class  doctor  in  the  city  who  would  take  the  time  to 
look  at  this  machine.  They'd  want  to  know  first  what 
some  feller  in  Vienna  thought  about  it.  I  might  starve 
for  all  the  help  I've  ever  had  here !  Doctors  don't  want 
any  one  to  do  things  on  his  own  hook :  they're  jealous, 
just  as  jealous  as  women.  But  I  guess  I'm  going  to  show 
'em  a  thing  or  two  not  in  the  books.  Let  me  tell  you  on 
the  quiet,  Miss  Venetia,  —  I'm  going  over  to  Paris  with 
this  pump  of  mine  and  show  it  off  in  one  of  their  hospi 
tals.  Then  you'll  see  something ! " 

The  girl  tried  to  look  intelligent. 

"  If  I  can  convince  some  Frenchman  or  German  that  I 


THE   COMMON   LOT  133 

am  on  to  a  big  idea,  why  the  whole  pack  of  pill-sellers 
over  here  will  fall  into  line  so  quick  you  can't  see  'em." 

"Perhaps  we  shall  go  over  to  Paris  this  summer,  too. 
How  I  should  like  to  be  there  when  you  are,  and  see  you 
show  the  pump ! " 

In  her  experience  there  was  nothing  remarkable  in  go 
ing  to  Europe  :  one  went  to  hear  an  opera,  to  order  a  few 
gowns,  to  fill  out  an  idle  vacation. 

"Well,  I  may  have  to  go  steerage,  but  I'll  get  there 
somehow." 

While  they  had  been  discussing  the  machine,  a  small, 
white-faced  man,  who  looked  as  if  he  might  be  a  waiter 
or  some  kind  of  skilled  mechanic,  had  come  into  the  labora 
tory  and  nodding  to  the  doctor  took  a  chair  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  room  with  the  manner  of  one  who  was  quite 
at  ease  in  the  place.  His  face,  which  was  aged  by  illness 
or  care,  interested  Helen  greatly.  She  watched  him  while 
the  others  talked,  wondering  what  his  relation  to  the  doc 
tor  could  be,  whether  that  of  patient  or  friend.  He  sat 
huddled  up  on  his  chair,  one  worn-out  boot  thrust  forward 
from  a  ragged  trouser  leg,  curiously  scanning  the  young 
girl,  who  seemed  in  her  fresh  beauty  and  rich  clothes 
decidedly  out  of  harmony  with  the  dingy  room.  When 
Venetia  spoke  of  going  abroad  as  casually  as  she  might 
have  mentioned  going  to  the  country,  a  sarcastic  smile 
crept  over  his  face.  He  seemed  to  possess  the  full  power 
of  patience,  as  if  a  varied  experience  with  a  buffeting 
world  had  taught  him  to  accept  rather  than  to  resist. 
His  business  there,  whatever  it  might  be,  could  wait,  had 
always  waited. 


134  THE  COMMON  LOT 

"  Hussey,  here,  is  the  only  feller  that  I  ever  found  be 
sides  myself  who  has  any  faith  in  the  old  pump,"  Coburn 
remarked  presently  by  way  of  introduction,  half  turning 
toward  the  silent  man,  and  smiling  as  if  he  thoroughly 
enjoyed  the  joke  of  having  this  one  convert.  "He's 
always  after  me  to  try  it  on  him,  —  he  says  he's  got  some 
thing  the  matter  with  his  lungs,  —  but  I  guess  it's  purely 
a  scientific  interest  that  makes  him  offer  to  be  the  first 
victim.  Gee !  Wouldn't  I  like  to  take  him  at  his  word ! " 

He  worked  one  of  the  delicate  valves  of  the  machine, 
squirting  through  the  needle  a  thin  stream  of  water  in 
the  direction  of  Hussey. 

"Why  don't  you  do  it  then?"  the  man  asked  in  an 
indifferent  tone.  "  I'm  ready  any  time  you  say." 

"Ain't  he  got  nerve,  now?"  the  doctor  appealed  to 
Venetia,  his  eyes  twinkling  sardonically.  "  Any  doctor 
would  tell  him  for  nothing  that  it  was  just  plain  murder 
to  stick  that  needle  into  his  lungs.  If  I  am  wrong,  you 
know,  he'd  be  a  goner,  bleed  to  death." 

"  I  guess  I  ain't  built  very  different  from  that  guinea- 
pig,"  the  man  observed  placidly.  "  And  I  have  seen  you 
put  it  into  one  of  them  often  enough." 

"Why  don't  you  try  it,  if  he's  willing?"  Venetia 
asked  the  doctor  breathlessly. 

Helen  and  Coburn  laughed,  and  even  the  silent 
Hussey  smiled  grimly. 

"  Maybe,  young  lady,  you  wouldn't  mind  if  I  tried  it 
on  you !  Can't  you  get  up  a  real  good  heart  trouble 
now  ?  "  the  doctor  quizzed. 

"  Would  it  make  any  particular  difference  if  I  hadn't 


THE   COMMON  LOT  135 

anything  the  matter  with  me  ?  "  Venetia  asked  quickly. 
"  You  can  put  it  into  me  and  see  what  it  does,  anyway." 

"Good  nerve!"  Coburn  laughed  admiringly.  "See, 
Mrs.  Hart,  I've  got  two  converts  now.  Don't  you  want 
to  make  a  third?" 

Then  bursting  into  his  loud  laugh,  which  seemed  to  be 
directed  at  himself,  Coburn  walked  to  the  rear  of  the 
room,  raised  a  trap-door,  and  whistled  for  Pete.  He 
thrust  his  hand  down,  caught  the  dog  by  the  neck,  and 
placed  him  on  the  laboratory  table  for  exhibition. 

"  Nothing  worse  than  a  good  aristocratic  limp,  Peter," 
the  doctor  pronounced  with  complacency.  "Just  come 
here  and  look  at  that  ear,  Venetia !  What  do  you  think 
of  that  ?  It  isn't  quite  the  right  shade,  but  I  couldn't 
lay  my  hands  on  a  terrier  that  was  as  dark  as  Pete." 

"  What  have  you  done  to  his  ear  ?  "  the  girl  demanded. 

"  He  hadn't  much  of  an  ear  left,  when  I  came  to  look 
him  over.  So  I  grafted  a  new  piece  on.  And  I  cropped 
it,  too,  so  it  would  look  like  its  mate.  Pretty  neat  job?" 

"  That's  why  you  wouldn't  let  me  see  his  head  when 
you  were  changing  the  bandages ! " 

"  Sure !  This  ear  was  to  be  a  real  Christmas  surprise 
for  a  good  little  girl." 

"Poor  old  Pete!" 

"What's  the  matter  with  Pete?  Don't  drop  your 
tears  that  way.  He's  forgotten  by  this  time  he  ever  had 
another  leg.  Say ! "  he  added  abruptly,  "  what  do  you 
"think  the  job's  worth?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Venetia  replied  a  little  haughtily. 
"Please  send  your  bill  to  mamma." 


136  THE   COMMON   LOT 

"  And  suppose  I  make  it  half  what  Dr.  Cutem  would 
charge  for  doing  the  same  job  on  you,  what  would  mamma 
say  ?  Pete's  worth  half,  ain't  he,  Mrs.  Hart  ?  " 

"  Not  to  me,"  Helen  answered  lightly. 

"  Well,  you'd  have  thought  he  was  the  way  she  went 
on  about  him  that  afternoon  I  found  them  out  in  the 
street.  But  that's  the  luck  of  a  poor  doctor.  You  do 
your  best,  and,  the  patient  cured,  the  bill  seems  large ! " 

The  doctor's  joke  evidently  distressed  Venetia,  who 
had  been  taught  that  it  was  low  to  discuss  bills.  The 
silent  man  still  smiling  to  himself  over  the  girl,  rose  and 
spoke  to  the  doctor  in  a  low  tone.  Coburn  nodded. 

"  The  same  thing  ?     Yes,  I'll  be  over  pretty  soon." 

Then  Hussey  left  the  laboratory  with  a  slight  nod  of 
his  head  in  the  direction  of  the  women.  When  he  had 
gone  and  the  outer  door  had  banged  behind  him,  the 
doctor  remarked  thoughtfully :  — 

"I  guess  it  isn't  just  pure  interest  in  science  that 
makes  him  ready  to  try  the  pump." 

"  Tell  me  about  him,"  Helen  asked  quickly. 

"  He  lost  his  little  girl  two  months  ago,  —  malnutri 
tion,  that  is  to  say  slow  starvation,  and  I  guess  his  wife's 
not  got  long  to  live.  That's  why  he  came  in  this  after 
noon.  But  I  can't  do  anything  for  her  now,  nor  any 
body  else.  She's  just  beat  out.  They  came  from 
somewhere  in  Pennsylvania,  a  little  country  place.  He's 
a  bookbinder  by  trade,  —  does  fancy  work,  —  and  work 
gave  out  in  the  country,  so  he  tried  New  York.  He  had 
some  kind  of  trouble  there  with  the  union  and  came  on 
here.  But  he  might  as  well  have  stayed  where  he  was. 


THE   COMMON   LOT  137 

—  there  ain't  anything  in  this  town  for  him,  and  the 
union  is  after  him  again.  He's  been  up  against  it  pretty 
much  ever  since  he  started.  That's  his  story." 

"  Poor  woman ! "  Helen  exclaimed,  with  a  quick  sense 
of  her  own  new  happiness.  "  Do  you  suppose  she  would 
like  to  have  me  call  on  her  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Perhaps  she  might.  But  he's  rather 
sour  on  folks  in  general,"  the  doctor  answered  indiffer 
ently. 

"  Where  do  they  live  ?  " 

"  Out  west  here  a  ways  on  Arizona  Avenue." 

"  I  know  that  district.  The  River  settlement  is  over 
there  on  Arizona  Avenue.  But  I  didn't  know  any  Ameri 
cans  lived  there.  They  are  mostly  Poles  or  Germans,  I 
thought,"  Helen  added. 

"  I  guess  people  like  the  Husseys  live  most  anywhere 
they  can  find  a  hole  to  crawl  into,"  Coburn  answered 
brusquely.  "  So  you  are  one  of  those  settlement 
cranks  ?  " 

"  I  had  classes  there  for  a  time  before  I  was  married," 
Helen  admitted. 

"  Got  sick  of  it  ?  Found  you  couldn't  scrub  up  the 
world  in  a  few  weeks,  or  even  a  small  piece  of  it  ?  I 
took  you  for  a  woman  of  too  much  sense  to  mix  in  that 
foolishness.  It  might  do  Venetia  here  some  good,  teach 
her  a  thing  or  two.  She  never  rode  in  a  street  car  till  I 
showed  her  how." 

"I  only  gave  it  up  when  I  was  going  to  marry,  and 
my  husband  thought  I  was  not  strong  enough,"  Helen 
protested  stoutly.  "  But  it's  the  most  interesting  —  " 


138  THE  COMMON  LOT 

"See  here!  Look  at  this  floor.  Would  it  clean  it 
any  to  pour  a  spoonful  of  water  here  and  there  ?  Well, 
that's  what  your  social  settlements  with  all  their  statis 
tics  and  their  investigations  are  doing.  I  tell  you  I 
know  because  I  have  been  one  of  them,  one  of  the 
'masses.'  I  have  been  dirt  poor  all  my  life.  I  lived 
once  for  six  months  in  a  tenement  room  with  five  other 
men.  '  Understanding  and  sympathy  '  ?  Rot !  You 
can't  really  know  anything  about  folks  until  you  earn 
your  bread  as  they  do,  because  you  have  to  or  starve; 
and  live  and  eat  and  marry  as  they  do  because  you  have 
to.  Do  you  suppose  those  English  know  anything 
about  their  Hindoos  ?  Well,  these  settlement  folks 
know  just  about  as  much  of  what  the  people  around 
them  really  are  as  the  English  know  about  those  darkies 
they  boss." 

"  But  they're  trying  to  understand,  to  help." 

"What's  the  good  of  their  help?  What  men  need 
/is  a  chance  to  help  themselves  at  the  pot.  And  the 
only  way  they'll  ever  get  that  is  to  fight  for  it.  Fight 
the  hoggish  ones  who  want  the  whole  loaf.  Let  'em 
get  out  and  fight,  same  as  the  people  always  have  had 
'to  when  they  weren't  content  to  starve.  Then  you'd 
see  what  this  settlement '  sympathy  and  understanding ' 
amounts  to." 

"  Fighting  never  helps." 

"Don't  it  now?  What  does  your  science  or  history 
tell  you  ?  Men  have  fought  in  one  way  or  another  for 
pretty  nearly  everything  they've  got ! " 

"  Perhaps  that  is  the  trouble." 


THE   COMMON  LOT  139 

"Not  much,"  lie  retorted,  as  if  lie  were  trying  to 
convince  himself  as  much  as  her.  "  The  real  fact  is, 
most  of  the  world  isn't  worth  the  bother  of  saving  it 
from  its  fate.  They  are  refuse  junk.  Just  junk,  so 
many  tons  of  flesh  and  bone,  with  not  wit  enough  to 
hold  their  appetites.  That's  why  the  worst  robbers  get 
on  top  and  ride,  every  time.  They  always  will  because 
they  are  the  best  fighters.  No,  young  woman,  the  ruck 
of  people  aren't  worth  bothering  about.  Life  is  the 
cheapest  thing  on  this  planet ;  pious  folks  with  all  their 
blart  can't  alter  that  fact.  It's  cheap,  and  mean,  and 
can't  fight." 

"  What's  the  good  of  that  machine,  if  it's  only  fit  to 
mend  such  bad  flesh  ?  " 

"  You  think  you've  got  me,"  he  laughed  back.  "  Now 
I'll  tell  you  why.  I  want  to  show  every  stupid  doctor 
in  this  town  that  I've  got  a  trick  worth  two  of  his. 
All  the  high-toned  doctors  have  turned  me  down,  every 
one  I  ever  got  at.  But  I  can  fight.  See  ?  That's  why 
I  starve  myself  and  live  in  this  chicken-coop.  I  could 
make  money  enough  gassing  patients  and  selling  them 
a  lot  of  wind.  Don't  you  think  I  could  eat  well  and 
dress  well  and  be  as  sleek  and  fine  as  the  young  men 
Venetia  thinks  are  the  right  thing?  I  guess  I  could. 
Do  you  know  Dr.  Parks  on  the  North  Side  ?  Two  years 
ago  he  offered  to  take  me  into  his  office  if  I  would  quit 
fooling  with  these  experiments  and  devote  myself  to 
private  practice.  Parks  is  earning  a  good  twenty  thou 
sand  a  year.  The  pickings  in  that  office  would  be  con 
siderable,  I  guess." 


140  THE   COMMON   LOT 

"  But  you  wanted  something  better  than  money  ! " 

"  Better  ?  I  don't  know  about  that.  I  want  Parks 
and  all  the  other  big-mouths  in  the  profession  just 
salaming  there  before  me  for  one  thing." 

"No,  —  that  isn't  much  better  than  wanting  money. 
You  don't  want  to  help.  To  want  to  help,  to  care 
about  helping,  that's  the  best  thing  in  men  and  women, 
—  caring  to  help  others  whether  what  they  do  succeeds 
in  the  end  or  fails.  Nobody  can  know  that." 

The  doctor's  face  lost  its  ironical  grin;  he  looked  at 
Helen  very  gravely. 

"That  feeling  you  talk  about  must  be  a  kind  of 
extra  sense  which  I  haven't  got.  It's  like  the  color 
nerve  or  the  sound  nerve.  I've  always  been  color 
blind.  In  the  same  way  I  haven't  that  other  feeling 
you  talk  about.  And  I  guess  most  folks  in  this  world 
are  like  me.  If  they  felt  like  you,  why  it  wouldn't  be 
the  same  old  world  we  know." 

"It  must  be  a  cruel  world  of  murder  and  hate,  if  you 
haven't  that." 

"  Well,  I  guess  it's  pretty  much  the  same  world  that 
old  Michael  Angelo  saw  when  he  got  up  in  the  morning, 
or  Julius  Caesar,  or  any  of  the  rest  of  them.  It's  a 
mighty  lively  sort  of  place,  too,  if  you  know  how  to 
forage  for  yourself." 

Venetia,  who  had  been  listening  to  the  discussion 
wide-eyed,  burst  out  explosively :  — 

"  What  are  you  two  scrapping  about,  anyway  ?  Aren't 
you  going  to  see  that  sick  woman?" 

"Right  you  are,"  Dr.  Coburn  laughed.  "I'll  have 
to  trot  over  there  pretty  soon." 


THE  COMMON  LOT  141 

"And  I  am  going  to  see  her,  too,  if  you'll  give  me 
the  address,"  Helen  added.  "  By  the  way,  Dr.  Coburn, 
you  know  my  husband,  don't  you  ?  " 

A  peculiar  look  passed  over  the  doctor's  face  as  he  re 
plied:  "Yes,  in  a  way.  I  used  to  be  chore-boy  in  the 
chemical  lab  when  he  was  in  college.  But  I  wasn't  his 
sort." 

Helen  recollected  Jackson's  exclamation  when  she  had 
told  him  of  her  first  visit  with  Venetia  to  the  doctor's 
office.  "  That  scrub ! "  Jackson  had  commented,  simply 
and  finally. 

There  was  an  awkward  pause,  which  Venetia  broke  by 
saying,  "  I  can  take  Pete,  can't  I  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  he's  well  enough,"  Coburn  answered  reluc 
tantly.  It  was  plain  that  he  would  like  to  have  some 
excuse  to  put  off  Pete's  departure.  The  bit  of  friendship 
with  the  two  women,  which  fate  had  tossed  him,  was  too 
precious  to  part  with  easily.  He  picked  the  dog  up 
brusquely,  saying:  "Pete,  you  are  getting  skinny.  I 
guess  it's  time  for  you  to  go  back  to  the  good  living 
you're  used  to.  Don't  you  be  getting  into  another  mix-up, 
though,  or  there  won't  be  enough  dog  left  to  patch." 

Pete  licked  his  hand  in  a  puppyish  way,  as  Coburn 
carried  him  to  the  carriage  and  placed  him  carefully  on 
the  seat  between  Venetia  and  Helen. 

"  Won't  you  come  to  see  us  ?  "  Helen  asked,  as  they 
shook  hands.  The  queer  look  came  back  to  the  doctor's 
face. 

"  No,"  he  said  brusquely,  "  I  guess  not.  I  hope  to  see 
you  again,  though." 


142  THE   COMMON   LOT 

"Why  do  you  suppose  he  said  that?"  Venetia  in 
quired  quickly  when  they  had  started. 

Helen  blushed,  as  she  answered  slowly,  "Perhaps  he 
doesn't  like  my  husband." 

"  Don't  you  think  he's  the  most  interesting  man  you 
ever  saw  ?  "  the  girl  exclaimed  breathlessly.  "  At  first 
he  frightened  me;  he  said  such  queer  things  —  things 
people  don't  say,  just  think  them.  But  I  like  it  now.  I 
mean  to  see  a  lot  more  of  him  somehow." 

"  Will  you  get  your  mother  to  ask  him  to  Forest  Park  ?  " 
Helen  asked  mischievously. 

"  Just  imagine  it !  Wouldn't  Mrs.  Phillips  be  nice  to 
him?  They'd  have  a  fight  the  first  thing,  if  she  even 
looked  at  him.  But  I  am  sure  he's  the  most  interesting 
man  I  ever  met.  He's  lots  nicer  than  Stanwood's  friends. 
They  are  always  trying  to  hold  your  hand  and  wanting 
to  kiss  you.  It  makes  up  for  conversation." 

"Venetia!"  the  older  woman  protested. 

"  Well,  they  do !  And  when  I  told  mamma  once,  she 
said  that  a  girl  could  always  manage  men  if  she  wanted 
to." 

As  the  carriage  stopped  at  the  apartment  house  where 
the  Harts  lived,  the  girl  impulsively  kissed  the  older 
woman. 

"  I'm  so  glad  I  know  you  —  and  the  doctor,  too ! " 

That  evening  when  Helen  sat  down  to  dinner  with  her 
husband  in  their  little  apartment,  she  recounted  the 
events  of  her  day,  among  them  the  visit  to  Dr.  Coburn's 
office.  Jackson,  who  had  brought  home  with  him  a  roll 


THE   COMMON   LOT  143 

of  plans  to  work  at  in  the  evening,  remarked  casually: 
"  Isn't  Venetia  going  there  a  good  deal  ?  Her  mother 
won't  like  that  sort  of  intimacy." 

"I  don't  think  there  is  any  harm  in  it.  Dr.  Coburn 
interests  her,  opens  her  eyes  to  things  she  never  realized 
before.  I  think  he  must  have  a  good  deal  of  ability, 
though  he  is  boastful  and  rough." 

"That  kind  usually  are  conceited,"  the  architect 
replied  indifferently.  "He  had  better  show  a  little 
of  his  ability  in  getting  some  paying  patients.  He 
can't  be  doing  much,  judging  by  the  boots  and  hat  he 
had  on  the  last  time  I  saw  him." 

"  No,  he  is  very  poor,"  Helen  admitted.  She  disliked 
to  have  her  husband  judge  any  man  by  his  "  boots  and 
hat."  These  necessary  articles  of  clothing  seemed  to  her 
rather  accidental  aspects  of  humanity  in  the  confusing 
fortunes  of  life. 

"  Would  you  mind  very  much,"  she  ventured  after  a 
time,  "  calling  on  him  ?  I  want  to  ask  him  to  dine  with  us 
some  Sunday.  I  want  to  have  Venetia,  and  Pete,  too." 

Jackson  looked  at  his  wife  in  surprise. 

"  If  you  wish  it,  of  course.  I  don't  see  much  point  to 
it.  Why  do  you  want  him  ?  He  isn't  our  kind." 

She  was  becoming  gradually  conscious  that  her  hus 
band  liked  only  the  society  of  his  kind  —  those  people 
who  had  the  same  tastes  and  habits,  whose  views  and 
pleasures  he  shared.  When  she  thought  of  it,  she 
realized  that  they  had  rapidly  severed  themselves  from 
any  other  kind  during  the  first  few  months  of  their 
married  life.  She  had  given  up  going  to  the  River 


144  THE   COMMON   LOT 

settlement  before  her  marriage,  partly  because  Jackson 
disapproved  of  settlements.  They  were  "  socialistic " 
and  "cranky,"  and  business  men  told  him  that  they 
helped  to  stir  up  that  discontent  among  the  laboring 
classes  which  was  so  rife  in  Chicago.  They  encouraged 
the  unions,  and  with  people  of  his  class  trade-unionism 
was  considered  to  be  the  next  worst  thing  to  anarchy. 
So  in  the  desire  to  have  no  shadow  of  difference  between 
them,  Helen  had  given  up  her  classes  in  the  settlement 
and  rarely  returned  to  the  friends  she  had  made  in  that 
part  of  the  city. 

There  was  growing  in  her,  however,  something  almost 
of  revolt  against  this  attitude  on  the  part  of  her  husband. 
There  came  back  to  her  these  days  with  singular  insist 
ence  some  earnest  words  which  once  had  thrilled  her : 
"  We  are  bound  to  one  another  inseparably  in  this  life 
of  ours ;  we  make  a  society  that  is  a  composite.  What 
ever  we  may  do  to  weaken  the  sense  of  that  common 
bond  disintegrates  society.  Whatever  we  can  do  to 
deepen  the  sense  of  that  bond  makes  life  stronger, 
better  for  all ! "  This  idea  fed  an  inner  hunger  of 
spirit  which  her  husband  had  not  appeased.  For  she 
had  in  large  measure  that  rare  instinct  for  democracy, 
the  love  of  being  like  others  in  joy  and  sorrow. 

Jackson  believed  in  charitable  effort,  and  had  urged 
her  to  accept  an  invitation  to  join  the  committee  of 
women  who  managed  St.  Isidore's  hospital.  It  was  almost 
a  fashionable  club,  this  committee,  and  it  was  a  flattering 
thing  for  a  young  married  woman  to  be  made  a  member 
of  it.  The  hospital  was  under  the  special  patronage  of 


THE   COMMON   LOT  145 

the  Crawfords  and  the  Fosters  and  other  well-known  people 
in  the  city.  And  when  after  a  visit  to  the  bookbinder's 
sickly  wife,  she  wished  to  do  something  for  Hussey, 
Jackson  interested  himself  in  her  effort  to  get  together 
a  class  of  young  married  women  to  learn  the  art  of  book 
binding,  which  happened  to  be  a  part  of  the  current 
enthusiasm  over  craftsmanship.  This  class  met  at 
various  houses  once  a  week  and  spent  a  morning  trying 
to  bind  paper-covered  literature  under  Hussey's  direction. 
Jackson,  who  was  a  bit  of  a  dilettante  by  nature,  was 
much  interested  in  the  work  of  the  class.  He  would 
like  to  have  Helen  try  her  hand  in  metal-work  or  design 
jewellery  or  wall-paper  or  model.  Once  he  talked  to  the 
class  on  the  minor  arts,  talked  with  great  enthusiasm  and 
charm,  exhorting  these  young  women  of  the  leisure  class 
to  cultivate  intensively  some  one  artistic  interest  in  life. 
But  Helen,  who  hoped  soon  to  have  a  child,  found 
these  things  more  or  less  trivial. 


CHAPTER  XII 

AFTEB  a  winter  in  the  city  the  Harts  went  to  live 
at  Shoreham,  taking  rooms  for  the  season  in  a  cottage 
near  the  club.  The  new  station  which  the  railroad 
was  building  at  Eversley  Heights,  and  the  Rainbows' 
cottage  on  the  ridge  just  west  of  the  club,  had  brought 
the  architect  considerable  reputation.  His  acquaintance 
was  growing  rapidly  among  the  men  who  rode  to  and  fro 
each  day  on  the  suburban  trains  of  the  C.  R.  and  N.  It 
was  the  kind  of  acquaintance  which  he  realized  might 
be  very  valuable  to  him  in  his  profession. 

Between  Chicago  and  Shoreham  there  was  a  long  line 
of  prosperous  suburbs,  which  exhibited  a  considerable 
variety  of  American  society.  As  the  train  got  away 
from  the  sprawling  outskirts  of  the  city,  every  stop 
marked  a  pause  in  social  progress.  Each  little  town 
gathered  to  itself  its  own  class,  which  differed  subtly, 
but  positively,  from  that  attracted  by  its  neighbor. 
Shoreham  was  the  home  of  the  hunting  set,  its  society 
centring  in  the  large  club.  At  Popover  Plains  there 
was  a  large  summer  hotel,  and  therefore  the  society 
of  Popover  Plains  was  considered  by  her  neighbors  as 
more  or  less  "mixed."  Eversley  Heights  was  still 
undeveloped,  the  home  of  a  number  of  young  people, 

146 


THE   COMMON  LOT  147 

who  were  considered  very  pleasant,  even  incipiently 
smart.  But  of  all  the  more  distant  and  desirable  settle 
ments  Forest  Park  had  the  greatest  pride  in  itself,  be 
ing  comparatively  old,  and  having  large  places  and 
old-fashioned  ugly  houses  in  which  lived  some  people 
of  permanent  wealth.  At  these  latter  stations  many 
fashionable  traps  were  drawn  up  at  the  platforms  to 
meet  the  incoming  afternoon  trains,  and  the  coachmen, 
recognizing  their  masters,  touched  their  hats  properly 
with  their  whips.  Farther  down  the  line  there  were 
more  runabouts,  and  they  were  driven  by  wives  freshly 
dressed,  who  were  expecting  package-laden  husbands. 
Still  nearer  the  city,  the  men  who  tumbled  out  of  the 
cars  to  the  platform  found  no  waiting  carriages,  and 
only  occasionally  a  young  woman  in  starched  calico 
awaited  her  returning  lord. 

Nevertheless,  all  these  suburban  towns  had  one  common 
characteristic:  they  were  the  homes  of  the  prosperous, 
who  had  emerged  from  the  close  struggle  in  the  city 
with  ideals  of  rest  and  refreshment  and  an  instinct  for 
the  society  of  their  own  kind.  Except  for  a  street  of 
shops  near  the  stations,  to  which  was  relegated  the 
service  element  of  life,  the  inhabitants  of  these  suburbs 
got  exclusively  the  society  of  their  kind. 

The  architect  went  to  the  city  by  one  of  the  earlier 
trains  and  came  back  very  late.  He  had  all  the  labor 
of  supervising  the  construction  of  his  buildings,  for 
the  work  in  the  office  did  not  warrant  engaging  a 
superintendent.  He  emerged  from  the  city,  after  a  day 


148  THE   COMMON   LOT 

spent  in  running  about  here  and  there,  with  a  kind  of 
speechless  listlessness,  which  the  wife  of  a  man  in 
business  soon  becomes  accustomed  to.  But  the  dinner 
in  the  lively  dining-room  of  the  club-house,  with  the 
chatter  about  sport  and  the  gossip,  the  cigar  afterward 
on  the  veranda  overlooking  the  green,  turfy  valley 
golden  in  the  afterglow  of  sunset,  refreshed  him  quickly. 
He  was  always  eager  to  accept  any  invitation,  to  go 
wherever  they  were  asked,  to  have  himself  and  his 
wife  in  the  eyes  of  their  little  public  as  much  as  pos 
sible.  His  agreeable  manners,  his  keen  desire  to  please, 
his  instinct  for  the  conventional,  the  suitable,  made  him 
much  more  popular  than  his  wife,  who  was  considered 
shy,  if  not  positively  countrified.  As  the  season  pro 
gressed,  Jackson  was  sure  that  they  had  made  a  wise 
choice  of  a  place  to  settle  in,  and  they  began  to  look 
for  a  house  for  the  winter. 

These  were  the  happiest  months  the  architect  had 
ever  known.  He  was  having  the  exquisite  pleasure 
that  a  robust  nature  feels  in  the  first  successful  bout 
with  life.  Then  blows,  even,  are  sweet,  and  the  whole 
brutal  surge  of  the  struggle.  The  very  step  of  him 
these  days  as  he  turned  in  at  his  club  for  a  hurried 
luncheon,  his  air  of  polite  haste,  a  quick,  hearty  manner 
of  greeting  the  men  he  knew,  proclaimed  him  as  one 
who  had  taken  his  part  in  the  game.  The  song  of  the 
great  city  sang  in  his  ears  all  the  day,  with  a  sweeter, 
minor  note  of  his  love  that  was  awaiting  him. 

Yet  there  were  grave  risks,  anxieties,  that  pressed  as 
the  months  passed.  In  spite  of  all  the  apparent  pros- 


THE   COMMON   LOT  149 

perity  which  the  little  office  enjoyed  from  the  start, 
the  profit  for  the  first  year  was  startlingly  small. 
The  commission  from  the  Phillips  house  had  long 
since  been  eaten;  also  as  much  of  the  fee  from  Graves 
as  that  close  contractor  could  be  induced  to  pay  over 
before  the  building  had  been  finished.  The  insatiable 
office  was  now  devouring  the  profits  from  the  railroad 
business.  Such  commissions  as  he  had  got  in  Forest 
Park  and  Shoreham  were  well-earned:  the  work  was 
fussy,  exacting,  and  paid  very  little.  When  Cook  saw 
the  figures,  he  spoke  to  the  point :  "  It's  just  self- 
indulgence  to  build  houses.  We  must  quit  it."  If 
they  were  to  succeed,  they  must  do  a  larger  business, 
—  factories,  mills,  hotels,  —  work  that  could  be  handled 
on  a  large  scale,  roughly  and  rapidly. 

The  Harts  were  living  beyond  their  means,  not  ex 
travagantly,  but  with  a  constant  deficit  which  from  the 
earliest  weeks  of  their  marriage  had  troubled  Helen. 
Reared  in  the  tradition  of  thrift,  she  held  it  to  be  a 
crime  to  spend  money  not  actually  earned.  But  she 
found  that  her  husband  had  another  theory  of  domestic 
economy.  To  attract  money,  he  said,  one  must  spend  it. 
He  insisted  on  her  dressing  as  well  as  the  other  women 
who  used  the  club,  although  they  were  for  the  most  part 
wives  and  daughters  of  men  who  had  many  times  his 
income.  At  the  close  of  the  first  ten  months  of  their 
marriage  Helen  spoke  authoritatively:  — 
~ "  At  this  rate  we  shall  run  behind  at  least  two 
thousand  dollars  for  the  year.  We  must  go  back  to 
the  city  to  live  at  once!" 


150  THE   COMMON  LOT 

They  had  been  talking  of  renting  the  Loring  plaee  in 
Forest  Park  for  the  coming  year.  But  she  knew  that  in 
the  city  she  could  control  the  expenditure,  the  manner  of 
living.  The  architect  laughed  at  her  scruples,  however. 

"  I'll  see  Bushfield  to-day  and  find  out  when  they  are 
to  get  at  the  Pop  over  station." 

She  still  looked  grave,  having  in  mind  a  precept  that 
young  married  people,  barring  sickness,  should  save  a 
fifth  of  their  income. 

"  And  if  that  isn't  enough,"  her  husband  added,  "  why, 
we  must  pull  out  something  else.  There's  lots  doing." 

He  laughed  again  and  kissed  her  before  going  down 
stairs  to  take  the  club  'bus.  His  light-hearted  philoso 
phy  did  not  reassure  her.  If  one's  income  was  not 
enough  for  one's  wants,  he  said  —  why,  expand  the 
income!  This  hopeful,  gambling  American  spirit  was 
natural  to  him.  He  was  too  young  to  realize  that  the 
point  of  expansion  for  professional  men  is  definitely 
limited.  A  lawyer,  a  doctor,  an  architect,  has  but  his 
one  brain,  his  one  pair  of  hands,  his  own  eyes  —  and  the 
scope  of  these  organs  is  fixed  by  nature. 

"  And  we  give  to  others  so  little ! "  she  protested  in 
her  heart  that  morning.  Her  mother  had  given  to  their 
church  and  to  certain  charities  always  a  tenth  of  their 
small  income.  That  might  be  a  mechanical,  old-fashioned 
method  of  estimating  one's  dues  to  mankind,  but  it  was 
better  than  the  careless  way  of  giving  when  it  occurred 
to  one,  or  when  some  friend  who  could  not  be  denied 
demanded  help.  .  .  . 

The  architect,  as  he  rode  to  the  early  morning  train 


THE  COMMON  LOT  151 

in  the  club  'bus,  was  talking  to  Stephen  Lane,  a  rich 
bachelor,  who  had  a  large  house  and  was  the  chief  pro 
moter  of  the  Hunt  Club.  Lane  grumbled  rather  osten 
tatiously  because  he  was  obliged  to  take  the  early  train, 
having  had  news  that  a  mill  he  was  interested  in  had 
burned  down  overnight. 

"  You  are  going  to  rebuild  ?  "  the  architect  asked. 

"  Begin  as  soon  as  we  can  get  the  plans  done,"  Lane 
replied  laconically. 

It  shot  into  the  architect's  mind  that  here  was  the 
opportunity  which  would  go  far  to  wipe  out  the  deficit 
he  and  Helen  had  been  talking  about.  With  this  idea 
in  view  he  got  into  the  smoking  car  with  Lane,  and 
the  two  men  talked  all  the  way  to  town.  Hart  did  not 
like  Stephen  Lane ;  few  at  the  club  cared  for  the  rich 
bachelor,  whose  manners  carried  a  self-consciousness  of 
wealth.  But  this  morning  the  architect  looked  at  him 
from  a  different  angle,  and  condoned  his  tone  of  patron 
age.  Yet  the  mill  would  mean  only  a  few  hundred 
dollars,  a  mere  pot-boiling  job,  that  in  his  student  days 
he  would  have  scorned,  something  that  Cook  or  a  new 
draughtsman  might  bite  his  teeth  on!  As  the  train 
neared  the  tangled  network  of  the  city  terminal,  he  ven 
tured  to  say,  "  What  architects  do  your  work,  Lane  ?  " 

He  hated  the  sound  of  his  voice  as  he  said  it,  though 
he  tried  to  make  it  impersonal  and  indifferent.  Lane's 
voice  seemed  to  change  its  tone,  something  of  suspicion 
creeping  in,  as  he  replied :  — 

"I  have  always  had  the  Stearns  brothers.  They  do 
that  sort  of  thing  pretty  well." 


152  THE   COMMON   LOT 

As  they  mounted  the  station  stairs,  Lane  asked  casu 
ally  :  "  Do  you  ever  do  that  kind  of  work  ?  It  isn't 
much  in  your  line." 

"  I've  never  tried  it,  but  of  course  I  should  like  the 
chance." 

Then  Lane,  one  hand  on  the  door  of  a  waiting  cab, 
remarked  slowly :  "  Well,  we'll  talk  it  over  perhaps. 
Where  do  you  lunch?"  and  gave  the  architect  two 
fingers  of  his  gloved  hand. 

He  was  thinking  that  Mrs.  Hart  was  a  pleasant 
woman,  who  always  listened  to  him  with  a  certain  def 
erence,  and  that  these  Harts  must  be  hard  put  to  it, 
without  old  Jackson's  pile. 

Hart  went  his  way  on  foot,  a  taste  of  something  little 
agreeable  in  his  mouth.  That  same  morning  he  had  to 
stop  at  the  railroad  offices  to  see  the  purchasing  agent. 
The  railroad  did  its  own  contracting,  naturally,  and  it 
was  through  this  man  Bushfield  that  the  specifications  for 
the  buildings  had  to  pass.  The  architect  had  had  many 
dealings  with  the  purchasing  agent,  and  had  found  him 
always  friendly.  This  morning  Bushfield  was  already 
in  his  office,  perspiring  from  the  August  heat,  his  coat 
off,  a  stenographer  at  his  elbow.  When  Hart  came  in 
he  looked  up  slowly,  and  nodded.  After  he  had  finished 
with  the  stenographer,  he  asked :  — 

"  Why  do  you  specify  Star  cement  at  Eversley,  Hart  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  about  the  best.  We  always  specify  Star  for 
outside  work." 

"  How's  it  any  better  than  the  Climax  ?  "  the  purchase- 
ing  agent  asked  insistently. 


THE   COMMON   LOT  153 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  the  Climax.  What's 
the  matter  with  Star  ?  " 

Bushfield  scratched  his  chin  thoughtfully  for  a  moment. 

"  I  haven't  got  anything  against  Star.  What  I  want 
to  know  is  what  you  have  got  against  Climax  ?  " 

The  smooth,  guttural  tones  of  the  purchasing  agent 
gave  the  architect  no  cause  for  suspicion,  and  he  was  dull 
enough  not  to  see  what  was  in  the  air. 

"  It  would  take  time  to  try  a  new  cement  properly," 
he  answered. 

The  purchasing  agent  picked  up  his  morning  cigar, 
rolled  it  around  in  his  mouth,  and  puffed  before  he  re 
plied  :  — 

"  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  it  means  something  to 
me  to  have  Climax  used  at  Eversley.  It's  just  as  good 
as  any  cement  on  the  market.  I  give  you  my  word  for 
that.  I  take  it  you're  a  good  friend  of  mine.  I  wish  you 
would  see  if  you  can't  use  the  Climax." 

Then  they  talked  of  other  matters.  When  Hart  got 
back  to  the  office  he  looked  up  the  Climax  cement  in  a 
trade  catalogue.  There  were  hundreds  of  brands  on  the 
market,  and  the  Climax  was  one  of  the  newest.  Horace 
Bushfield,  he  reflected,  was  Colonel  Raymond's  son-in- 
law.  If  he  wished  to  do  the  Popover  station,  he  should 
remain  on  good  terms  with  the  purchasing  agent  of  the 
road.  Some  time  that  day  he  got  out  the  type-written 
specifications  for  the  railroad  work,  and  in  the  section  on 
the  cement  work  he  inserted  neatly  in  ink  the  words, 
"  Or  a  cement  of  equal  quality  approved  by  the  archi 
tect." 


154  THE   COMMON   LOT 

He  had  scarcely  time  to  digest  this  when  not  many 
days  later  the  purchasing  agent  telephoned  to  him :  — 

"  Say,  Hart,  the  Buckeye  Hardware  people  have  just 
had  a  man  in  here  seeing  me  about  the  hardware  for  that 
building.  I  see  you  have  specified  the  Forrest  makes. 
Aren't  the  Buckeye  people  first-class  ?  " 

The  architect,  who  knew  what  was  coming  this  time, 
waited  a  moment  before  replying.  Then  he  answered 
coolly,  "  I  think  they  are,  Bushfield." 

"  Well,  the  Buckeye  people  have  always  done  our  busi 
ness,  and  they  couldn't  understand  why  they  were  shut 
out  by  your  specifying  the  Forrest  makes.  You'll  make 
that  all  right  ?  So  long." 

As  Hart  hung  up  his  receiver,  he  would  have  liked  to 
write  Raymond,  the  general  manager,  that  he  wanted 
nothing  more  to  do  with  the  railroad  business.  Some 
weeks  later  when  b/e  happened  to  glance  over  the  Buck 
eye  Company's  memoranda  of  sales  for  the  Eversley  sta 
tion,  and  saw  what  the  railroad  had  paid  for  its  hardware, 
he  knew  that  Horace  Bushfield  was  a  thief.  But  the  pur 
chasing  agent  was  Colonel  Raymond's  son-in-law,  and  the 
railroad  was  about  to  start  the  Popover  station  I 

Something  similar  had  been  his  experience  with  the 
contractor  Graves. 

"  Put  me  up  a  good,  showy  building,"  the  contractor 
had  said,  when  they  first  discussed  the  design.  "  That's 
the  kind  that  will  take  in  that  park  neighborhood. 
People  nowadays  want  a  stylish  home  with  elevator  boys 
in  uniform.  .  .  .  That  court  you've  got  there  between  the 


THE  COMMON  LOT  155 

wings,  and  the  little  fountain,  and  the  grand  entrance,  — 
all  just  right.  But  they  don't  want  to  pay  nothin'  for 
their  style.  Flats  don't  rent  for  anything  near  what 
they  do  in  New  York.  Out  here  they  want  the  earth  for 
fifty,  sixty  dollars  a  month ;  and  we've  got  to  give  'em 
the  nearest  thing  to  it  for  their  money." 

So  when  it  came  to  the  structure  of  the  building,  the 
contracter  ordered  the  architect  to  save  expense  in  every 
line  of  the  details.  The  woodwork  was  cut  to  the  thin 
nest  veneer;  partitions,  even  bearing-walls,  were  made 
of  the  cheapest  studding  the  market  offered ;  the  large 
floors  were  hung  from  thin  outside  walls,  without  the 
brick  bearing- walls  advised  by  the  architect.  When  Hart 
murmured,  Graves  said  frankly :  — 

"This  ain't  any  investment  proposition,  my  boy.  I 
calculate  to  fill  the  Graveland  in  two  months,  and  then 
I'll  trade  it  off  to  some  countryman  who  is  looking  for 
an  investment.  Put  all  the  style  you  want  into  the 
finish.  Have  some  of  the  flats  Flemish,  and  others 
Colonial,  and  so  on.  Make  'em  smart." 

The  architect  tried  to  swallow  his  disgust  at  being 
hired  to  put  together  such  a  flimsy  shell  of  plaster  and 
lath.  But  Cook,  who  had  been  trained  in  Wright's 
office,  where  work  of  this  grade  was  never  accepted, 
was  in  open  revolt. 

"If  it  gets  known  around  that  this  is  the  style  of 
work  we  do  in  this  office,  it'll  put  us  in  a  class,  and  it 
ain't  a  pleasant  one,  either.  .  .  .  Say,  Jack,  how's  this 
office  to  be  run  —  first-class  or  the  other  class  ?  " 

"You  know,  man,"  the  architect  replied,  wincing  at 


156  THE   COMMON   LOT 

the  frank  speech,  "how  I  am  fixed  with  Graves.  I 
don't  like  this  business  any  better  than  you  do,  but 
we'll  be  through  with  it  before  long;  and  I  shan't  get 
into  it  again,  I  can  tell  you." 

He  growled  in  his  turn  to  the  contractor,  who  received 
his  protest  with  contemptuous  good  humor. 

"You'd  better  take  a  look  at  what  other  men  are 
doing,  if  you  think  I  am  making  the  Graveland  such  an 
awful  cheap  building.  I  tell  you,  there  ain't  money  in 
the  other  kind.  Why,  I  worked  for  a  man  once  who  put 
up  a  first-class  flat  building,  slow-burning  construction, 
heavy  woodwork,  and  all  that.  It's  old-fashioned  by 
this  —  and  its  rents  are  way  down.  And  I  saw  by 
the  paper  the  other  day  that  it  was  sold  at  the  sheriff's 
sale  for  not  more  than  what  my  bill  came  to!  What 
have  you  got  to  say  to  that  ?  " 

Therefore  the  architect  dismissed  the  Graveland  from 
his  mind  as  much  as  he  could,  and  saw  little  of  it  while 
it  was  under  construction,  for  the  contractor  did  his  own 
superintending.  One  day,  however,  he  had  occasion  to 
go  to  the  building,  and  took  his  wife  with  him.  They 
drove  down  the  vast  waste  of  Grand  Boulevard ;  after 
passing  through  that  wilderness  of  painful  fancies,  the 
lines  of  the  Graveland  made  a  very  pleasant  impression. 

Hart  had  induced  Graves  to  sacrifice  part  of  his  pre 
cious  land  to  an  interior  court,  around  which  he  had 
thrown  his  building  like  a  miniature  chateau,  thus  shut 
ting  out  the  sandy  lots,  the  ragged  street,  which  looked 
like  a  jaw  with  teeth  knocked  out  at  irregular  intervals. 
A  heavy  wall  joined  the  two  wings  on  the  street  side, 


THE  COMMON  LOT  157 

and  through  the  iron  gates  the  Park  could  be  seen,  just 
across  the  street. 

"  Lovely ! "  Helen  exclaimed.  "  I'm  so  glad  you  did 
it!  I  like  it  so  —  so  much  more  than  the  Phillips 
house." 

They  studied  it  carefully  from  the  carriage,  and  Hart 
pointed  out  all  the  little  triumphs  of  design.  It  was,  as 
Helen  felt,  much  more  genuine  than  the  Phillips  house. 
It  was  no  bungling  copy,  but  an  honest  answer  to  a 
modern  problem  —  an  answer,  to  be  sure,  in  the  only 
language  that  the  architect  knew. 

Helen  wanted  to  see  the  interior,  although  Jackson 
displayed  no  enthusiasm  over  that  part  of  the  structure. 
And  in  the  inside  came  the  disaster!  The  evidences  of 
the  contractor's  false,  flimsy  building  darkened  the  archi 
tect's  brow. 

"  The  scamp ! "  he  muttered,  emerging  from  the  base 
ment.  "  He's  propped  the  whole  business  on  a  dozen  or 
so  '  two-by-fours.'  And  I  guess  he's  put  in  the  rottenest 
plumbing  underground  that  I  ever  saw.  I  don't  believe 
it  ever  had  an  inspection." 

"  Show  me  what  you  mean,"  Helen  demanded. 

He  pointed  out  to  her  some  of  the  devices  used  to 
skimp  the  building. 

"  Even  the  men  at  work  here  know  it.  You  can  see 
it  by  the  way  they  look  at  me.  Why,  the  thing  is  a 
paper  box ! " 

In  some  of  the  apartments  the  rough  work  was  scarcely 
completed,  in  others  the  plasterers  were  at  work;  but 
the  story  was  the  same  everywhere. 


158  THE  COMMON  LOT 

"  I  can't  see  how  he  escaped  the  Building  Department. 
He's  violated  the  ordinances  again  and  again.  But  I  sup 
pose  he  knows  how  to  keep  the  inspectors  quiet." 

He  remembered  the  Canostota:  he  had  no  manner 
of  doubt,  now,  about  those  I-beains  in  the  Canostota. 

"Francis!"  Helen  exclaimed  with  sudden  passion; 
"  you  won't  stand  it  ?  You  won't  let  him  do  this  kind  of 
thing?" 

The  architect  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  It's  his  building.  He  bought  the  plans  and  paid  for 
them." 

She  was  silent,  troubled  in  her  mind  by  this  business 
distinction,  but  convinced  that  wrong  was  being  done. 
A  thing  like  this,  a  fraud  upon  the  public,  should  be 
prevented  in  some  way. 

"Can't  you  tell  him  that  you  will  report  him  to  the 
Building  Department  ?  "  she  asked  finally. 

Hart  smiled  at  her  impetuous  unpractically. 

"That  would  hardly  do,  would  it,  to  go  back  on  a  client 
like  that  ?  It's  none  of  my  business,  really.  Only  one 
hates  to  feel  that  his  ideas  are  wasted  on  such  stuff  as 
this  is  made  of.  The  city  should  look  after  it.  And  it's 
no  worse  than  most  of  these  flat  buildings.  Look  at  that 
one  across  the  street.  It's  the  same  cheap  thing.  I  was  in 
there  the  other  day.  .  .  .  No,  it's  the  condition  of  things 
in  this  city,  —  the  worst  place  for  good  building  in  the 
country.  Every  one  says  so.  But  God  help  the  poor 
devils  who  come  to  live  here,  if  a  fire  once  gets  started 
in  this  plaster-and-lath  shell ! " 

He  turned  to  the  entrance  and  kicked  open  the  door 


THE   COMMON   LOT  159 

in  disgust.  Helen's  face  was  pale  and  set,  as  if  she 
could  not  dismiss  the  matter  thus  lightly. 

"  I  never  thought  of  fire  !  "  she  murmured.  "  Francis, 
if  anything  like  that  should  happen  !  To  think  that  you 
had  drawn  the  plans !  " 

"  Oh !  it  may  last  out  its  time,"  he  replied  reassur 
ingly.  "And  it  doesn't  affect  the  appearance  of  the 
building  at  present.  It's  real  smart,  as  Mrs.  Rainbow 
would  say.  Don't  you  think  so,  Nell  ?  " 

She  was  standing  with  her  back  to  the  pleasant  facade 
of  the  Graveland,  and  was  staring  into  the  Park  across 
the  street.  Turning  around  at  his  words  she  cast  a  swift, 
scrutinizing  glance  over  the  building. 

"  It  isn't  right !  I  see  fraud  looking  out  of  every 
window.  It's  just  a  skeleton  covered  with  cloth." 

The  architect  laughed  at  her  solemnity.  He  was  dis 
gusted  with  it  himself;  it  offended  his  workman's 
conscience.  But  he  was  too  modern,  too  practical,  to 
allow  merely  ideal  considerations  to  upset  him.  And, 
after  all,  in  his  art,  as  in  most  arts,  the  effect  of  the 
work  was  two-thirds  the  game.  With  her  it  was  alto 
gether  different.  Through  all  outward  aspect,  or  cover, 
of  things  pierced  their  inner  being,  from  which  one  could 
not  escape  by  illusion. 

As  they  were  leaving  the  place  the  contractor  drove 
up  to  the  building  for  his  daily  inspection.  He  came  over 
to  the  architect,  a  most  affable  smile  on  his  bearded  face. 

"  Mrs.  Hart,  I  presume,"  he  said,  raising  his  hat. 
"  Looking  over  your  husband's  work  ?  It's  fine,  fine,  I 
tell  you !  Between  ourselves,  it  beats  Wright  all  out." 


160  THE   COMMON   LOT 

Helen's  stiffness  of  manner  did  not  encourage  cordia^ 
ity,  and  Graves,  thinking  her  merely  snobbish,  bowed  to 
them  and  went  into  the  building. 

"You'll  never  do  anything  for  him  again,  will  you, 
Francis  ?  Promise  me." 

And  he  promised  lightly  enough,  for  he  thought  it 
highly  improbable  that  the  contractor  ever  would  return 
to  him,  or  that  he  should  feel  obliged  to  take  his  work 
if  he  offered  it. 

Nevertheless,  the  contractor  did  return  to  the  office, 
and  not  long  afterward.  It  was  toward  the  end  of  the 
summer,  when  the  architect  and  his  wife  were  still  de 
bating  the  question  of  taking  a  house  in  the  country  for 
the  winter.  One  afternoon  Jackson  came  back  from  his 
luncheon  to  find  Graves  waiting  for  him  in  the  outer 
office.  The  stenographer  and  Cook  were  hard  at  work  in 
the  room  beyond,  with  an  air  of  having  nothing  to  say 
to  the  contractor.  As  Graves  followed  Hart  into  his 
private  office,  Cook  looked  up  with  a  curl  on  his  thin 
lips  that  expressed  the  fulness  of  his  heart. 

"  Say,"  Graves  called  out  as  soon  as  Hart  had  closed 
the  door  to  the  outer  room,  "  I  sold  that  Graveland  three 
weeks  ago,  almost  before  the  plaster  was  dry.  A  man 
from  Detroit  came  in  to  see  me  one  morning,  and  we 
made  the  deal  that  day." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  Hart  remarked  coolly. 

"  It  was  a  pretty  building.  I  knew  I  shouldn't  have 
any  trouble  with  it.  Now  I  have  something  new  in 
mind." 


THE   COMMON   LOT  161 

The  architect  listened  in  a  non-committal  manner. 

"  Part  of  that  trade  with  the  Detroit  feller  was  for  a 
big  block  of  land  out  west  here  a  couple  of  miles.  I  am 
thinking  of  putting  up  some  tidy  little  houses  to  sell  on 
the  instalment  plan." 

"What  do  you  mean  to  put  into  them?"  Jackson 
asked  bluntly. 

"Well,  they'd  ought  to  sell  for  not  more  than  eight 
thousand  dollars." 

"  And  cost  as  much  less  as  you  can  make  them  hold 
together  for  ?  I  don't  believe  I  can  do  anything  for 
you,  Mr.  Graves,"  Jackson  replied  firmly. 

"Is  that  so?  Well,  you  are  the  first  man  I  ever 
saw  who  was  too  busy  to  take  on  a  paying  piece  of 
business." 

He  settled  himself  more  comfortably  in  the  chair 
opposite  Hart's  desk,  and  began  to  describe  his  scheme. 
There  was  to  be  a  double  row  of  houses,  three  stories 
and  basement,  each  one  different  in  style,  in  a  different 
kind  of  brick  or  terra  cotta,  with  a  distinguishing 
"  feature  "  worked  in  somewhere  in  the  design.  They 
were  to  be  bait  for  the  thrifty  clerk,  who  wanted  to  buy 
a  permanent  home  on  the  instalment  plan  rather  than 
pay  rent.  There  were  many  similar  building  schemes 
in  different  parts  of  the  city,  the  advertisements  of 
which  one  might  read  in  the  street  cars. 

"Why  do  you  want  me  to  do  the  job  for  you ? "  Hart 
asked  at  last.  "  Any  boy  just  out  of  school  could  do 
what  you  are  after." 

"  No,  he  couldn't !     He  hasn't  the  knack  of  giving  a 


162  THE  COMMON  LOT 

fresh  face  to  each  house.  But  it  won't  be  hard  work  for 
you ! " 

This,  the  architect  knew,  was  true.  It  would  be  very 
easy  to  have  Cook  hunt  up  photographs  from  French 
and  English  architectural  journals,  which  with  a  little 
arrangement  would  serve  for  the  different  houses.  With 
a  few  hours'  work  he  could  turn  out  that  individual 
faqade  which  Graves  prized  commercially.  Here  was  the 
large  job  that  could  be  done  easily  and  roughly,  oppor 
tunely  offering  itself. 

"  I  don't  like  to  have  such  work  go  throiigh  the  office. 
That's  all  there  is  about  it !  "  he  exclaimed  at  last. 

"  Is  that  so  ?  Too  tony  already.  Well,  we  won't  fight 
over  that.  Suppose  you  make  the  sketches  and  let 
another  feller  prepare  the  details  ?  " 

There  were  many  objections  to  this  mode  of  operation, 
but  the  contractor  met  every  one.  Hart  himself  thought 
of  Meyer,  a  clever,  dissipated  German,  to  whom  he  had 
given  work  now  and  then  when  the  office  was  busy. 
Meyer  would  do  what  he  was  told  and  say  nothing 
about  it. 

It  was  late  when  Graves  left  the  office.  Cook  and  the 
stenographer  had  already  gone.  Hart  went  down  into 
the  street  with  the  contractor,  and  they  nodded  to  each 
other  when  they  parted,  in  the  manner  of  men  who 
have  reached  an  understanding.  On  the  way  to  the 
train,  Jackson  dropped  into  his  club  for  a  drink.  He 
stood  staring  into  the  street  while  he  sipped  his  gin  and 
bitters.  The  roar  of  the  city  as  it  came  through  the 
murky  windows  seemed  to  him  more  than  commonly 


THE  COMMON   LOT  163 

harsh  and  grating.  The  gray  light  of  the  summer 
evening  filtered  mournfully  into  the  dingy  room.  .  .  . 
He  was  not  a  weak  man ;  he  had  no  qualms  of  conscience 
for  what  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  afternoon  to  da 
It  was  disagreeable,  but  he  had  weighed  it  against  other 
disagreeable  alternatives  which  might  happen  if  he  could 
not  get  the  money  he  needed.  His  child  would  be  born 
in  a  few  months,  and  his  wife  must  have  the  necessary 
comforts  during  her  illness.  He  had  too  much  pride 
to  accept  Helen's  plan  of  going  to  her  mother's  house 
for  her  confinement.  By  the  time  he  had  reached  Shore- 
ham  he  had  entirely  adjusted  his  mind  to  Graves,  and 
he  met  his  wife,  who  had  walked  over  to  the  station, 
with  his  usual  buoyant  smile.  And  that  evening  he 
remarked :  — 

"I  guess  we  had  better  take  the  Loring  place. 
It's  the  only  fit  one  for  rent.  We'll  have  to  keep  a 
horse  —  that's  all." 

They  had  been  debating  this  matter  of  the  Loring 
place  for  several  weeks.  It  was  a  pleasant  old  house, 
near  the  lake,  not  far  from  Mrs.  Phillips's  in  Forest  Park. 
It  was  Mrs.  Phillips  who  had  first  called  the  architect's 
attention  to  it.  But,  unfortunately,  it  was  too  far  from 
either  station  of  the  railroad  to  be  within  walking 
distance.  And  it  was  a  large  establishment  for  two 
young  persons  to  maintain,  who  were  contemplating  the 
advent  of  a  baby  and  a  nurse. 

^All  this  Helen  had  pointed  out  to  her  husband,  and 
lately  they  had  felt  too  poor  to  consider  the  Loring  place. 

"  What  has  happened,  Francis  ?  "  she  asked. 


164  THE   COMMON   LOT 

"  A  lot  more  business  has  come  in, — a  block  of  houses. 
They  will  be  very  profitable,"  he  answered  vaguely,  re 
membering  Helen's  antipathy  to  the  contractor.  "  Did 
you  lunch  with  Venetia  ?  I  saw  her  this  morning  at  the 
station.  She  is  growing  up  fast,  isn't  she  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Two  years  passed  and  they  were  still  living  in  the 
Loring  place,  which  the  architect  had  remodelled  com 
fortably  to  suit  his  modern  taste.  Occasionally  he  talked 
of  building,  and  they  looked  at  land  here  and  there. 
But  it  was  clearly  out  of  the  question  at  present,  for  each 
year  the  family  budget  went  leaping  upward,  and  the 
income  came  tagging  after. 

"Jack,"  so  Everett  Wheeler  expressed  the  situation 
in  the  raw  phrase  of  the  ordinary  man,  "  Jack's  got  a 
champagne  appetite.  But  he's  a  pretty  good  provider." 

The  architect  was  a  good  provider :  he  enjoyed  heartily 
the  luxury  that  his  money  brought  him,  and  he  wanted 
his  wife  to  enjoy  it  with  him.  He  worked  at  high  press 
ure  and  needed  his  bread  and  meat  well  seasoned  with 
excitement.  Once,  early  in  their  married  life,  Mrs. 
Phillips  had  volunteered  to  explain  to  Helen  the  philoso 
phy  of  this  masculine  temperament. 

"  Some  men  need  more  food  than  others.  They'd 
mope  and  grow  thin  if  they  dined  at  home  on  a  chop  and 
went  to  bed  at  ten  every  night.  They  must  have  some 
thing  to  make  steam.  Your  young  man  was  born  to  be 
a  spender." 

165 


166  THE   COMMON  LOT 

The  second  winter  the  Phillipses  had  gone  to  Europe, 
where  the  widow  was  still  adding  to  her  collection  for  the 
new  house,  —  Forest  Manor  as  she  had  dubbed  it.  Leav 
ing  Venetia  in  Paris  with  some  friends,  she  had  descended 
upon  Italy,  the  rage  for  buying  in  her  soul.  There  she 
gathered  up  the  flotsam  of  the  dealers,  —  marbles,  fur 
niture,  stuffs,  —  a  gold  service  in  Naples,  a  vast  bed  in 
Milan,  battered  pictures  in  Florence.  Mrs.  Phillips  was 
not  a  discriminating  amateur;  she  troubled  her  soul 
little  over  the  authenticity  of  her  spoil.  To  San  Giorgio, 
Simonetti,  Richetti,  and  their  brethren  in  the  craft  she 
came  like  a  rich  harvest,  and  they  put  up  many  a  prayer 
for  her  return  another  season. 

In  March  of  that  year,  Jackson  Hart,  struggling  with 
building  strikes  in  Chicago,  had  a  cablegram  from  the 
widow.  "Am  buying  wonderful  marbles  in  Florence. 
Can  you  come  over?"  The  architect  laughed  as  he 
handed  the  message  to  his  wife,  saying  lightly,  "  Some 
one  ought  to  head  her  off,  or  she'll  be  sending  over  a  ship 
load  of  fakes."  Helen,  mindful  of  the  widow's  utterances 
about  Jackson,  and  thinking  that  he  needed  the  vaca 
tion  after  two  years  of  hard  work,  urged  him  gener 
ously  to  accept  the  invitation  and  get  a  few  weeks  in 
Italy.  But  there  was  no  time  just  then  for  vacation  • 
he  was  in  the  grip  of  business,  and  another  child  was 
coming  to  them. 

From  time  to  time  Mrs.  Phillips's  purchases  arrived  at 
Forest  Park  and  were  stored  in  the  great  hall  of  her 
house.  Then  late  in  the  spring  the  widow  telephoned 
the  architect. 


THE   COMMON   LOT  167 

"  Yes,  I  am  back,"  came  her  brisk,  metallic  tones  from 
the  receiver.  "  Glad  to  be  home,  of  course,  with  all  the 
dirt  and  the  rest  of  it.  How  are  you  getting  on?  I 
hear  you  are  doing  lots  of .  things.  Maida  Rainbow 
told  me  over  there  in  Paris  that  you  were  building  the 
Bushfields  an  immense  house.  I  am  so  glad  for  you  — 
I  hope  you  are  coining  money." 

"  Not  quite  that,"  he  laughed  back. 

"  I  want  you  to  see  all  the  treasures  I  have  bought.  I've 
ruined  myself  and  the  children !  However,  you'll  think 
it's  worth  it,  I'm  sure.  You  must  tell  me  what  to  do  with 
them.  Come  over  Sunday,  can't  you?  How  is  Mrs. 
Hart?  Bring  her  over,  too,  of  course." 

Thus  she  gathered  him  up  on  her  return  with  that 
dexterous  turn  of  the  wrist  which  exasperated  her 
righteous  brother-in-law.  On  the  Sunday  Jackson  went 
to  see  the  "  treasures,"  but  without  Helen,  who  made  an 
excuse  of  her  mother's  weekly  visit.  He  found  the 
widow  in  the  stable,  directing  the  efforts  of  two  men 
servants  in  unpacking  some  cases. 

"  Ah,  it's  you !     How  are  you  ?  " 

She  extended  a  strong,  flexible  hand  to  Hart,  and  with 
the  other  motioned  toward  a  marble  that  was  slowly 
emerging  from  the  packing  straw. 

"  Old  copy  of  a  Venus,  the  Syracuse  one.  It  will  be 
great  in  the  hall,  won't  it  ?  " 

"  It's  ripping !  "  he  exclaimed  warmly.  "  But  where 
did  you  get  that  picture  ?  " 

«  You  don't  like  it  ?  " 

"  Looks  to  be  pure  fake." 


168  THE   COMMON   LOT 

"  And  Simonetti  swore  he  knew  the  very  room  where 
it's  hung  for  over  a  hundred  years." 

"  Oh,  he  probably  put  it  there  himself ! " 

"Come  into  the  house  and  see  the  other  things.  I 
have  some  splendid  chairs." 

For  an  hour  they  examined  the  articles  she  had 
bought,  and  the  architect  was  sufficiently  approving  to 
satisfy  Mrs.  Phillips.  Neither  one  had  a  pure,  reticent 
taste.  Both  were  of  the  modern  barbarian  type  that 
admires  hungrily  and  ravishes  greedily  from  the  treas 
ure  house  of  the  Old  World  wLat  it  can  get,  what  is  left 
to  get,  piling  the  spoil  helter-skelter  into  an  up-to-date 
American  house.  Mediaeval,  Renaissance,  Italian,  French, 
Flemish  —  it  was  all  one !  Between  them  they  would 
turn  Forest  Manor  into  one  of  those  bizarre,  corrupt, 
baroque  museums  that  our  lavish  plunderers  love,  — 
electric-lighted  and  telephoned,  with  gilded  marble  fire 
places,  massive  bronze  candelabra,  Persian  rugs,  Gothic 
choir  stalls,  French  bronzes  —  a  house  of  barbarian 
spoil! 

A  servant  brought  in  a  tray  of  liquors  and  cigarettes ; 
they  sat  in  the  midst  of  pictures  and  stuffs,  and  sipped 
and  smoked. 

"Now,"  Mrs.  Phillips  announced  briskly,  "I  want  to 
hear  all  about  you ! " 

"It's  only  the  old  story,  —  more  jobs  and  more  strikes, 
— the  chase  for  the  nimble  dollar,"  he  answered  lightly. 
*  You  have  to  run  faster  for  it  all  the  time." 

"  But  you  are  making  money  ? "  she  questioned 
directly. 


THE   COMMON  LOT  169 

"  I'm  spending  it." 

He  found  it  not  difficult  to  tell  her  the  state  of  his 
case.  She  nodded  comprehendingly,  while  he  let  her  see 
that  his  situation,  after  two  years  of  hard  work,  was  not 
altogether  as  prosperous  as  it  appeared  on  the  surface. 
'  Payments  on  buildings  under  construction  were  delayed 
on  account  of  the  strikes ;  office  expenses  crept  upward ; 
and  personal  expenses  mounted  too.  And  there  was  that 
constant  pressure  in  business  —  the  fear  of  a  cessation 
in  orders. 

"  We  may  have  to  move  back  to  town  after  all.  That 
Loring  place  is  pretty  large  to  swing,  and  in  town  you 
can  be  poor  in  obscurity." 

"Nonsense!  You  must  not  go  back.  People  will 
know  then  that  you  haven't  money.  You  are  going  to 
get  bigger  things  to  do  when  the  strikes  are  over.  And 
you  are  so  young.  My !  not  thirty-five." 

Her  sharp  eyes  examined  the  man  frankly,  sympa 
thetically,  approving  him  swiftly.  His  clay  was  like 
hers ;  he  would  succeed,  she  judged  —  in  the  end. 

"  Come !  I  have  an  idea.  Why  shouldn't  you  build 
here,  on  my  land?  Something  pretty  and  artistic;  it 
would  help  you,  of  course,  to  have  your  own  house.  I 
know  the  very  spot,  just  the  other  side  of  the  ravine  — 
in  the  hickories.  Do  you  remember  it  ?  " 

In  her  enthusiasm  she  proposed  to  go  at  once  to  exam 
ine  the  site.  Pinning  a  big  hat  on  her  head,  she  gathered 
up  her  long  skirt,  and  they  set  forth,  following  a  neat 
wood-path  that  led  from  the  north  terrace  into  the  ravine, 
across  a  little  brook,  and  up  the  other  bank. 


170  THE   COMMON   LOT 

"  Now,  here ! "  She  pointed  to  a  patch  of  hazel  bushes. 
a  See  the  lake  over  there.  And  my  house  is  almost  hid 
den.  You  would  be  quite  by  yourselves." 

He  hinted  that  to  build  even  on  this  charming  spot  a 
certain  amount  of  capital  would  be  needed.  She  frowned 
and  settled  herself  on  the  stump  of  a  tree. 

"  Why  don't  you  try  that  Harris  man  ?  You  know  him. 
He  made  a  heap  of  money  for  me  once,  —  corn,  I  think. 
He  knew  just  what  was  going  to  happen.  He's  awfully 
smart,  and  he's  gone  in  with  Eainbow,  you  know.  I 
am  sure  he  could  make  some  money  for  you." 

"  Or  lose  it  ?  " 

She  laughed  scornfully  at  the  idea  of  losing. 

"  Of  course  you  have  got  to  risk  something.  I  wouldn't 
give  a  penny  for  a  man  who  wouldn't  trust  his  luck.  You 
take  my  advice  and  see  Harris.  Tell  him  I  sent  you." 

She  laughed  again,  with  the  conviction  of  a  successful 
gambler ;  it  became  her  to  laugh,  for  it  softened  the  lines 
of  her  mouth. 

She  was  now  forty-one  years  old,  and  she  appeared  to 
Jackson  to  be  younger  than  when  he  had  first  gone  to  see 
her  after  his  uncle's  death.  She  had  come  back  from 
Europe  thinner  than  she  had  been  for  several  years. 
Her  hair  was  perfectly  black,  still  undulled  by  age,  and 
her  features  had  not  begun  to  sharpen  noticeably.  She 
had  another  ten  years  of  active,  selfish  woman's  life 
before  her,  and  she  knew  it.  Meantime  he  had  grown 
older  rapidly,  so  that  they  were  much  nearer  together. 
She  treated  him  quite  as  her  equal  in  experience,  and 
that  flattered  him. 


THE   COMMON  LOT  171 

"  Yes,"  she  continued,  in  love  with  her  project,  "  there 
isn't  a  nicer  spot  all  along  the  shore.  And  you  would 
be  next  door,  so  to  say.  You  could  pay  for  the  land 
when  you  got  ready,  of  course." 

She  gave  him  her  arm  to  help  her  in  descending  the 
steep  bank  of  the  ravine,  and  she  leaned  heavily  on 
him.  Beneath  the  bluff  the  lake  lapped  at  the  sandy 
shore  in  a  summer  drowse,  and  the  June  sun  lay  warmly 
about  the  big  house  as  they  returned  to  it.  The  shrub 
bery  had  grown  rankly  around  the  terrace,  doing  its 
best  in  its  summer  verdancy  to  soften  the  naked  walls. 
The  architect  looked  at  the  house  he  had  built  with 
renewed  pride.  It  was  pretentious  and  ambitious,  mixed 
in  motive  like  this  woman,  like  himself.  He  would 
have  fitted  into  the  place  like  a  glove,  if  his  uncle  had 
done  the  right  thing.  Somewhat  the  same  thought  was 
in  the  widow's  mind. 

"It  was  a  shame  that  old  Powers  treated  you  so 
shabbily !  They  haven't  done  anything  yet  about  that 
school,  have  they  ?  " 

"No;  I  thought  I  should  be  drawing  the  plans 
before  this.  Eather  counted  on  it." 

They  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  terrace,  looking  at 
the  house.  Yes,  it  was  like  them  both!  They  loved 
equally  the  comforts  and  the  luxuries  and  the  powers 
of  this  our  little  life.  And  they  were  bold  to  snatch 
what  they  wanted  from  the  general  feast. 

"You  must  make  Harris  do  something  for  you,"  she 
mused.  "  You  can't  bury  yourself  in  a  stuffy  flat." 
Then  in  a  few  moments  she  added :  "  How's  that  hand- 


172  THE   COMMON   LOT 

some  wife  of  yours  ?  I  hear  she's  going  to  have  another 
child."  She  continued  with  maternal,  or,  perhaps,  Pari 
sian,  directness :  "  Two  babies,  and  not  on  your  feet 
yet !  You  mustn't  have  any  more.  These  days  chil 
dren  are  no  unmixed  blessing,  I  can  tell  you.  .  .  .  Ve- 
netia?  I  left  her  in  the  East  with  some  friends  she 
made  over  there.  She's  too  much  for  me  already.  She 
needs  a  husband  who  can  use  the  curb."  .  .  . 

When  Jackson  reported  to  his  wife  the  widow's  offer, 
Helen  said  very  quickly,  "  I  had  rather  go  back  to  the 
city  to  live,  Francis,  than  do  that." 

"  Why  ?  "  he  asked  with  some  irritation. 

"Because,  because  —  " 

She  put  her  arms  about  his  neck  in  her  desire  to 
make  him  feel  what  she  could  not  say.  But  he  was 
thinking  of  Mrs.  Phillips's  advice  to  see  the  broker, 
and  merely  kissed  her  in  reply  to  her  caress.  The 
widow  had  spoken  wisely;  it  would  be  foolish  to 
retreat  now,  to  hide  himself  in  the  city.  Instead,  he 
would  venture  on  with  the  others.  It  was  the 
year  of  the  great  bull  market,  when  it  seemed  as  if 
wealth  hung  low  on  every  bough,  and  all  that  a  bold 
man  had  to  do  to  win  a  fortune  was  to  pick  his  stock 
and  make  his  stake. 

Forest  Park  was  very  gay  that  summer.  There  were 
perpetual  dinners  and  house  parties  and  much  polo  at 
the  Shoreham  Club.  The  architect,  who  was  very 
popular,  went  about  more  than  ever,  sometimes  with  his 
wife,  and  often  alone,  as  her  health  did  not  permit 


THE    COMMON   LOT  173 

much  effort.  Occasionally  he  played  polo,  taking  the  place 
of  one  of  the  regular  team,  and  usually  when  there  was  a 
match  he  stopped  at  the  club  on  his  way  from  the  city. 

One  of  these  polo  Wednesdays,  late  in  August,  Helen 
strolled  along  the  shore-path  in  the  direction  of  the 
Phillipses'  place,  with  an  idea  of  calling  on  Venetia 
Phillips,  if  her  strength  held  out.  The  path  followed 
the  curves  of  the  bluff  in  full  view  of  the  lake,  from 
which  rose  a  pleasant  coolness  like  a  strong  odor. 
Back  from  the  edge  of  the  bluff,  in  the  quiet  of  well- 
spaced  trees,  stood  the  houses.  They  seemed  deserted 
on  this  midsummer  afternoon,  for  those  people  who  had 
the  energy  to  stir  had  gone  to  the  polo  grounds.  The 
Phillips  house,  also,  was  apparently  asleep  in  the  wind 
less  heat,  as  Helen  crossed  the  lawn  that  stretched  from 
the  edge  of  the  bluff  to  the  terrace ;  but  when  she 
reached  the  stone  steps  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  Mrs. 
Phillips  seated  in  the  farther  corner  of  the  terrace,  where 
luxuriant  vines  curtained  a  sheltered  nook.  Beyond 
was  the  outline  of  a  man's  form,  and  little  rings  of 
blue  cigar  smoke  curled  upward.  The  widow  was 
leaning  forward,  her  elbows  resting  comfortably  on 
her  knees,  and  in  the  animation  of  her  talk  she  had 
put  one  hand  on  her  companion's  arm  to  emphasize  her 
words.  It  lay  there,  while  she  looked  into  the  man's 
face  with  her  eager,  flashing  eyes. 

Before  Helen  could  take  another  step  Mrs.  Phillips 
turned  her  head,  as  if  disturbed  unconsciously  by  the 
presence  of  an  intruder. 

"  Oh,  is  that  you,  Mrs.  Hart  ?  "  the  older  woman  asked 


174  THE  COMMON  LOT 

after  a  moment  of  scrutiny.  "Did  you  walk  in  all  this 
heat?  Come  over  here." 

"  Helen ! "  Jackson  exclaimed,  rising,  a  trace  of  annoy 
ance  in  his  tone,  as  though  he  had  been  interrupted  in 
some  important  business  matter. 

"  Don't  get  up,  Mrs.  Phillips,"  Helen  said  quickly,  and 
the  coldness  of  her  voice  surprised  her.  "  I  am  looking 
for  Venetia." 

And  without  further  words  she  opened  the  terrace 
door  and  stepped  into  the  hall. 

"  You'll  find  her  about  somewhere.  Ask  John ! "  Mrs. 
Phillips  called  after  her  coolly. 

While  the  servant  departed  in  search  of  Venetia,  Helen 
moved  restlessly  about  the  long  drawing-room,  which  op 
pressed  her  with  its  close  array  of  dominating  furniture, 
thinking  of  the  two  outside  upon  the  terrace.  She  had 
no  suspicion  of  wrong  between  them,  or,  indeed,  any 
jealousy  of  this  woman,  who  she  well  knew  liked  men  — 
all  men.  Yet  an  unfamiliar  pain  gripped  her  heart. 
Slowly,  for  many  months,  she  had  felt  some  mysterious 
and  hostile  force  entering  her  field,  and  now  she  seemed 
to  see  it  pictured,  dramatized  here  before  her  in  this  little 
scene,  —  a  man  and  a  woman  with  chairs  pulled  close  to 
gether,  their  faces  aglow  with  eager  thoughts.  The  other 
part  of  her  husband,  that  grosser  side  of  him  which  she 
dimly  felt  and  put  forth  from  her  mind  with  dread,  was  on 
intimate  terms  with  this  woman,  who  fed  his  ambitions. 
And  the  wife,  suddenly,  instinctively,  hated  her  for  it. 

There  was  nothing  evil,  however,  between  those  two  on 
the  terrace.  The  architect  had  come  from  town  by  an 


THE  COMMON  LOT  175 

early  train  to  see  the  polo,  and  there  Mrs.  Phillips  had 
found  him,  and  had  brought  him  home  in  her  automobile. 
She  had  just  learned  a  piece  of  news  that  concerned  the 
architect  closely,  and  they  were  discussing  it  in  the  shade 
and  quiet  of  the  north  terrace. 

"I  know  they're  going  to  start  soon.  The  judge  let 
it  out  at  dinner  last  night.  He's  no  friend  of  yours,  of 
course,  because  I  like  you.  But  he  won't  take  the  trouble 
to  fight  you.  You  must  get  hold  of  your  cousin  and  the 
other  trustees." 

It  was  here  that  Mrs.  Phillips,  in  her  eagerness  for 
his  success,  laid  her  hand  on  the  young  man's  arm.  Jack 
son  murmured  his  thanks,  thinking  less  of  the  widow 
than  of  the  trustees  of  the  Powers  Jackson  bequest. 

"  It  '11  be  the  biggest  thing  of  its  kind  we  have  had  in 
this  city  for  years.  It's  only  right  that  you  should  have 
it,  too.  Can't  your  wife  win  over  the  judge  ?  He's  always 
talking  about  her,"  she  resumed  after  Helen's  departure. 

It  was  not  strange  that  in  the  end  the  man  should 
take  the  woman's  hand,  and  hold  it  while  he  expressed 
his  gratitude  for  all  her  good  offices  to  him.  It  was  a 
pleasant  hand  to  hold,  and  the  woman  was  an  agreeable 
woman  to  have  in  one's  confidence.  Naturally,  he  could 
not  know  that  she  considered  all  men  base,  —  emotionally 
treacherous  and  false-hearted,  and  would  take  her  amuse 
ment  wherever  she  could  get  it. 

Venetia  found  Helen  in  the  drawing-room,  very  white, 
her  lips  trembling,  and  beads  of  perspiration  on  her 
forehead. 


176  THE    COMMON   LOT 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  Venetia  demanded  quickly. 
"  Have  you  seen  a  ghost  anywhere  ?  " 

"  It's  nothing,"  the  older  woman  protested.  "  I  shouldn't 
have  walked  so  far.  And  now  I  must  go  back  at  once,  — 
yes,  really  I  must.  I'm  so  sorry." 

"  Let  me  call  Mr.  Hart,"  Venetia  said,  troubled  by  the 
woman's  white  face.  "  I  saw  him  come  in  with  mamma 
a  little  while  ago." 

"No,  no,  I  prefer  not,  please.     It  would  worry  him." 

Then  Venetia  insisted  on  driving  her  home,  and  left 
her  calmer,  more  herself,  but  still  cold.  She  kissed  her, 
with  a  girl's  demonstrativeness,  and  the  older  woman 
burst  into  tears. 

"I  am  so  weak  and  so  silly.  I  see  things  queerly," 
she  explained,  endeavoring  to  smile. 

After  the  girl  had  gone,  Helen  tried  to  recover 
her  ordinary  calm.  She  played  with  the  little  Francis, 
who  was  beginning  to  venture  about  the  walls  and  chairs 
of  his  nursery,  testing  the  power  in  his  sturdy  legs.  This 
naive  manifestation  of  his  masculine  quality  touched  the 
mother  strangely.  She  saw  in  this  mark  of  manhood 
the  future  of  the  boy.  What  other  of  man's  instincts 
would  he  have  ?  Would  he,  too,  hunger  and  fight  for  his 
share  in  the  spoil  of  the  world  ? 

The  terrible  hour  of  her  woman's  agony  was  fast  ap 
proaching,  when  she  should  put  forth  another  being 
into  the  struggle  with  its  mates.  She  did  not  shrink 
from  the  pain  before  her,  although  she  began  to  wonder 
if  it  might  not  end  her  own  life,  having  that  dark  fore 
boding  common  to  sensitive  women  at  this  crisis.  If 


THE   COMMON   LOT  177 

death  came  now,  what  had  she  done  with  her  life  ? 
She  would  leave  it  like  a  meal  scarce  tasted,  a  task 
merely  played  with  —  something  seen  but  not  compre 
hended.  What  had  she  done  for  the  man  she  loved? 
This  afternoon  when  she  saw  her  husband,  so  remote 
from  her,  travelling  another  road,  a  bitter  sense  of  the 
fruitlessness  of  all  living  had  entered  her  heart.  This 
husband  whom  she  had  so  passionately  loved ! 

An  hour  later,  as  the  architect  was  taking  his  leave  of 
Mrs.  Phillips,  a  servant  brought  him  a  telephone  message 
from  his  house.  His  wife  was  suddenly  taken  ill.  He 
raced  home  through  the  leafy  avenues  in  the  big  touring 
car,  which  fortunately  stood  ready  before  the  door.  He 
found  Helen  white  and  exhausted,  her  eyes  searching  the 
vacant  horizon  of  her  bedroom. 

"  Why,  Nell !  Poor  girl !  "  he  exclaimed,  leaning  over 
her,  trying  to  kiss  her.  "  The  walk  was  too  much  for  you 
in  all  this  heat.  Why  didn't  you  let  me  know  ?  " 

Her  lips  were  cold  and  scarcely  closed  to  his  caress. 
She  pushed  him  gently  from  her,  wishing  to  be  alone  in 
her  trial.  But  shortly  afterward,  purging  her  heart  of 
any  suspicion  or  jealousy,  —  still  haunted  by  that  fear  of 
death,  —  she  drew  him  to  her  and  whispered :  — 

"  You  were  talking  with  Mrs.  Phillips.  I  didn't  want 
to  —  it's  all  right,  Francis.  I  love  you,  dear !  Oh !  I 
love  you ! " 


CHAPTEE  XIV 

EUMOB  had  it  that  the  Powers  Jackson  trust  was  about 
to  be  fulfilled.  It  had  become  known  among  the  friends 
of  the  trustees  that  during  these  prosperous  times  the 
fund  for  the  educational  project  had  grown  apace,  and 
was  now  estimated  to  be  from  five  to  six  millions  of 
dollars.  It  was  understood  that  some  of  the  trustees 
were  in  favor  of  handing  over  this  munificent  bequest  to 
a  large  local  university,  with  the  stipulation  that  a  part 
of  the  money  should  be  devoted  to  maintaining  a  school 
on  the  West  Side  where  some  form  of  manual  training 
or  technology  should  be  taught. 

One  morning,  not  long  after  Helen's  confinement,  Jack 
son  read  aloud  from  the  newspaper  an  item  to  the  effect 
that  negotiations  were  under  way  with  the  university. 

"  So  that's  their  game !  "  he  exclaimed  to  Helen  gloom 
ily,  seeing  in  this  move  an  unexpected  check  to  his  ambi 
tion. 

"  How  can  they  even  think  of  it ! "  she  responded 
warmly,  unwontedly  stirred  at  the  thought  that  the  old 
man's  design  had  already  become  thus  blurred  in  the 
minds  of  his  nearest  friend^.  "  That  wasn't  in  the  least 
what  uncle  meant  should  be  done.  I  wish  I  could  see 

178 


THE  COMMON  LOT  179 

Everett,  or  Judge  Phillips,  and  find  out  the  truth  in  all 
this  talk." 

"  Yes,"  Jackson  assented.  "  I  should  like  to  know 
what  they  mean  to  do." 

Then  he  went  to  the  train,  trying  to  recall  the  names 
of  the  influential  trustees  of  the  university,  and  won 
dering  whether  after  all  there  would  be  any  monumental 
building  erected  with  his  uncle's  money.  Fate  seemed 
disposed  to  keep  from  his  touch  the  smallest  morsel  of 
the  coveted  millions ! 

It  was  not  long  before  Helen  had  the  opportunity  she 
desired  of  finding  out  from  the  trustees  what  was  the 
truth  beneath  the  newspaper  gossip.  Judge  Phillips 
with  Mr.  Pemberton  took  the  seat  behind  her  in  the  car 
of  the  Chicago  train  one  morning,  and  the  judge  leaning 
forward  inquired  about  the  children.  Before  he  settled 
back  into  his  newspaper,  Helen  ventured  to  mention  the 
current  report  about  the  Powers  Jackson  bequest. 

"I  hope  it  isn't  true,"  she  protested  warmly.  "Mr. 
Jackson  was  not  interested  in  universities,  I  know,  —  at 
least  especially.  He  didn't  believe  very  much  in  theo 
retical  education ;  I  don't  think  he  would  have  wanted 
his  money  used  that  way." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  Pemberton  asked  with  interest. 

The  judge,  who  preferred  to  talk  babies  or  shrubs 
with  a  pleasant  young  woman,  answered  briefly  :  — 

"  Well,  we  haven't  settled  anything  yet.  Mr.  Hollis- 
ter  seems  to  be  against  the  university  plan,  and  I  don't 
know  that  I  favor  it.  But  you'll  have  to  talk  to  Pem 
berton  here.  It  was  his  idea." 


180  THE  COMMON  LOT 

"Why  do  you  think  Mr.  Jackson  would  have  ob 
jected  ?  "  Pemberton  inquired  gravely. 

"We  often  used  to  discuss  college  education,"  Helen 
replied  quickly,  turning  to  the  younger  trustee.  "  And 
he  had  very  positive  ideas  about  what  was  needed  nowa 
days.  He  thought  that  colleges  educated  the  leaders, 
the  masters,  and  that  there  would  always  be  enough  left 
for  that  kind  of  institution.  So  many  people  are  inter 
ested  in  colleges.  But  he  wanted  to  do  something  with 
his  money  for  the  people." 

"  Yes,  of  course,  it  must  be  a  free  technical  school," 
Pemberton  replied  literally,  "and  it  must  be  out  there 
on  the  West  Side." 

"  But  planned  for  the  people,  the  working  people,"  she 
insisted. 

"  Naturally.  But  we  are  all  the  '  people,'  aren't  we, 
Mrs.  Hart  ?  I  haven't  much  sympathy  with  this  talk 
nowadays  about  the  'people'  as  opposed  to  any  other 
class." 

"  That's  the  unions,"  the  judge  nodded  sagely.  "  We 
are  all  the  'people.'  There  is  no  class  distinction  in 
educational  matters.  We  want  to  offer  the  best  kind 
of  education  for  the  poor  boy  or  the  rich  boy.  What  was 
Powers  himself?  His  school  must  be  a  place  to  help 
boys  such  as  he  was,  of  course." 

They  were  both  completely  at  sea  as  to  the  donor's  real 
intentions,  Helen  felt  sure,  and  she  was  eager  to  have 
them  see  the  matter  as  she  saw  it.  Suddenly  ideas  came 
to  her,  things  she  wished  to  say,  things  that  seemed  to 
her  very  important  to  say.  She  remembered  talks  that 


THE   COMMON   LOT  181 

she  had  had  with  the  old  man,  and  certain  remarks  about 
college  education  which  had  dropped  from  him  like 
sizzling  metal. 

"  But  a  technological  school  like  the  one  in  Boston,"  — 
Pemberton  had  instanced  this  famous  school  as  an  ex 
ample  they  should  follow,  —  "  that's  a  place  to  educate 
boys  out  of  their  class,  to  make  them  ambitious,  to  push 
them  ahead  of  their  mates  into  some  higher  class." 

"Well?"  asked  Pemberton.  "What's  the  matter 
with  that  idea  ?  Doesn't  all  education  do  just  that  for 
those  who  are  fitted  for  it  ?  " 

"  Uncle  wanted  something  so  different !  He  wanted 
to  make  boys  good  workmen,  to  give  them  something  to 
be  contented  with  when  they  had  just  labor  before  them, 
daily  labor,  in  the  factories  and  mills." 

The  judge's  face  puckered  in  puzzle  over  this  speech. 
He  was  of  an  older  generation,  and  he  could  see  life  only 
in  the  light  of  competition.  Free  competition  in  all  the 
avenues  of  life  —  that  was  his  ideal.  And  the  constant 
labor  disputes  in  Chicago  had  thickened  his  prejudices 
against  the  working  people  as  a  class.  He  believed,  in 
common  with  his  associates,  that  their  one  aim  was  to 
get  somebody's  money  without  working  for  it; 

But  the  other  man,  who  was  younger  and  less  preju 
diced,  was  more  responsive.  He  felt  that  this  woman 
had  an  idea,  that  she  knew  perhaps  what  the  benefactor 
really  wanted,  and  so  they  talked  of  the  school  until  the 
train  reached  Chicago.  As  they  rose  to  leave  the  cars, 
Pemberton  said  warmly  :  — 

"  I  am  glad  we  have  had  this  talk,  Mrs.  Hart.     I  think 


182  THE  COMMON  LOT 

I  see  what  you  mean,  although  I  am  not  at  all  clear  how 
to  attain  the  objects  that  you  describe  as  the  donor's  in 
tention.  But  you  have  modified  my  ideas  very  materially, 
May  I  call  on  you  some  day  and  continue  this  discussion  ?  " 

"If  you  would!"  Helen  exclaimed,  glowing  with  an 
enthusiasm  unfelt  for  a  long  time. 

"  Well,"  the  judge  concluded,  "  I  hope  we  can  get  the 
thing  settled  pretty  soon  and  start  on  the  building.  I 
want  to  see  something  done  before  I  die." 

"  Yes,"  Helen  assented,  "  I  should  think  you  would 
want  to  see  the  school  go  up.  And  I  hope  Jackson  will 
have  the  building  of  it." 

She  expressed  this  wish  very  simply,  without  consider 
ing  how  it  might  strike  the  trustees.  It  was  merely  a 
bit  of  sentiment  with  her  that  her  husband,  who  had  got 
his  education  from  Powers  Jackson,  might,  as  a  pure 
labor  of  love,  in  gratitude,  build  this  monument  to  the 
old  man.  It  did  not  then  enter  her  mind  that  there 
would  be  a  very  large  profit  in  the  undertaking.  She 
assumed  that  the  architect  would  do  the  work  without 
pay  I 

It  was  not  until  Pemberton's  thin  lips  closed  coldly 
and  the  judge  stared  at  her  in  surprise  that  she  realized 
what  she  had  said.  Then  her  face  turned  crimson  with 
the  thought  of  her  indelicacy,  as  Judge  Phillips  replied 
shortly :  — 

"  We  haven't  got  that  far  yet,  Mrs.  Hart.  It's  prob 
able  that  if  we  build  we  shall  have  a  competition  of 
d«signs." 

The  two  men  raised  their  hats  and  disappeared  into 


THE   COMMON  LOT  183 

the  black  flood  pouring  across  the  bridge,  while  she  got 
into  an  omnibus.  That  remark  of  hers,  she  felt,  might 
have  undone  all  the  good  of  the  talk  they  had  had  about 
the  old  man's  plan.  Her  cheeks  burned  again  as  she 
thought  of  hinting  for  business  favors  to  her  husband. 
It  seemed  a  mean,  personal  seeking,  when  she  had  been 
thinking  solely  of  something  noble  and  pure. 

This  idea  distressed  her  more  and  more  until  she  was 
ingulfed  in  that  mammoth  caravansary  where  one-half 
of  Chicago  shops  and,  incidentally,  meets  its  acquaint 
ances  and  gossips.  She  hurried  hither  and  thither  about 
this  place  in  the  nervous  perturbation  of  buying.  Finally, 
she  had  to  mount  to  the  third  floor  to  have  a  correction 
made  in  her  account.  There,  in  the  centre  of  the  building, 
nearly  an  acre  of  floor  space  was  railed  off  for  the  office 
force,  —  the  bookkeepers  and  tally  clerks  and  cashiers. 
Near  the  main  aisle  thirty  or  forty  girls  were  engaged  in 
stamping  little  yellow  slips.  Each  had  a  computation 
machine  before  her  and  a  pile  of  slips.  Now  and  then 
some  girl  would  glance  up  listlessly  from  her  work,  let 
her  eyes  wander  vacantly  over  the  vast  floor,  and  perhaps 
settle  her  gaze  for  a  moment  on  the  face  of  the  lady  who 
was  waiting  before  the  cashier's  window.  This  store 
boasted  of  the  excellent  character  of  its  employees. 
They  were  of  a  neater,  more  intelligent,  more  America]  i 
class  than  those  employed  in  other  large  retail  stores . 
Even  here,  however,  they  had  the  characteristic  marki 
of  dull,  wholesale  labor. 

Helen  was  hypnotized  by  the  constant  punch,  click, 
and  clatter  of  the  computation  machines,  the  repeated 


184  THE   COMMON   LOT 

movements  of  the  girls'  arms  as  they  stretched  out 
for  fresh  slips,  inserted  them  in  the  machines,  laid 
them  aside.  This  was  the  labor  of  the  great  industrial 
world,  —  constant,  rhythmic  as  a  machine  is  rhythmic, 
deadening  to  soul  and  body.  Standing  there  beside  the 
railing,  she  could  hear  the  vast  clatter  of  our  complex 
life,  which  is  carried  on  by  just  such  automata  as  these 
girls.  What  was  the  best  education  to  offer  them,  and 
their  brothers  and  fathers  and  lovers?  What  would 
give  their  lives  a  little  more  sanity,  more  joy  and  human 
interest?  —  that  was  the  one  great  question  of  educa 
tion.  Not  what  would  make  them  and  their  fellows  into 
department  managers  or  proprietors. 

The  receipted  bill  came  presently,  with  a  polite  bow. 
She  stuffed  the  change  into  her  purse  and  hurried  away, 
conscious  that  the  girl  nearest  the  railing  was  looking 
languidly  at  the  back  of  her  gown. 

On  her  way  to  the  Auditorium  to  meet  some  women 
who  were  to  lunch  with  her  there,  and  afterward  go  to  the 
afternoon  concert,  she  stopped  at  her  husband's  office. 
The  architect  had  moved  lately  to  the  top  story  of  a  large 
new  building  on  Michigan  Avenue,  where  his  office  had 
expanded.  He  had  taken  a  partner,  a  pleasant,  smooth 
faced  young  man,  Fred  Stewart,  who  had  excellent  con 
nections  in  the  city,  which  were  expected  to  bring  business 
to  the  firm.  Cook  was  still  the  head  draughtsman,  but 
there  were  three  men  and  a  stenographer  under  him  now. 
His  faith  in  Hart  had  been  justified,  and  yet  at  times  he 
shook  his  head  doubtfully  over  some  of  the  work  which 
passed  through  the  office. 


THE   COMMON   LOT  185 

Cook  recognized  Helen  when  she  entered  the  outer 
office,  and  opened  the  little  wicket  gate  for  her  to  step 
inside. 

"  Your  husband's  busy  just  now,  been  shut  up  with  a 
contractor  most  all  the  morning.  Something  big  is  on 
probably.  Shall  I  call  him  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered.  "  I'll  wait  awhile.  Is  this  the 
new  work  ?  "  She  pointed  in  surprise  to  the  water-color 
sketches  and  photographs  on  the  walls.  "  It's  so  long  since 
I  have  been  in  the  office.  I  had  no  idea  you  had  done 
so  much." 

"More'n  that,  too.  There's  some  we  don't  hang  out 
here,"  the  draughtsman  answered  with  suppressed  sar 
casm.  "  We've  kept  pretty  busy." 

He  liked  his  boss's  wife.  She  had  a  perfectly  simple, 
kindly  manner  with  all  the  world,  and  a  face  that  men 
love.  The  year  before  she  had  had  Cook  and  his  younger 
brother  in  the  country  over  Sunday,  and  treated  them 
"  like  distinguished  strangers,"  as  Cook  expressed  it. 

"  That's  the  Bushfields'  house  —  you  know  it,  perhaps  ? 
This  is  Arnold  Starr's  residence  at  Marathon  Point  — 
colonial  style.  That's  an  Odd  Fellows  hall  in  Peoria. 
I  did  that  myself." 

Helen  said  something  pleasant  about  the  blunt  eleva 
tion  of  the  Odd  Fellows  hall. 

"That's  the  Graveland,"  he  continued,  pointing  to  a 
dingy  photograph  that  Helen  recognized.  "  It  was  called 
after  the  contractor's  name.  We  did  that  the  first  year." 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  remember  it,"  she  murmured,  passing 
on  quickly.  That  was  the  building  her  husband  had 


186  THE   COMMON  LOT 

done  for  the  disreputable  contractor,  who  had  made  it  a 
mere  lath-and-plaster  shell. 

She  kept  on  around  the  room,  glancing  at  the  photo 
graphs  and  sketches.  Among  the  newer  ones  there  were 
several  rows  of  semi-detached  houses  that,  in  spite  of  the 
architect's  efforts,  looked  very  much  as  if  they  had  been 
carved  out  of  the  same  piece  of  cake.  Some  of  these 
were  so  brazen  in  their  commonplaceness  that  she  thought 
they  must  be  the  work  of  the  Cooks.  Probably  Jackson 
had  reached  that  point  of  professional  success  where  he 
merely  "  criticised  "  a  good  many  of  the  less  important 
sketches,  leaving  the  men  in  the  office  to  work  them  out. 

She  sat  down  to  wait,  her  interest  in  the  office  sketches 
easily  dulled.  They  were  much  like  the  products  of  the 
great  emporium  that  she  had  just  left,  —  of  all  market 
able  kinds  to  suit  all  demands.  The  architect  worked 
in  all  the  "  styles,"  —  Gothic,  early  English,  French 
chateau,  etc.  There  was  little  that  was  sincere,  honest, 
done  because  the  man  could  do  it  that  way  and  no  other. 
It  was  all  clever  contrivance. 

Men  came  and  went  in  the  offices,  the  little  doors  fan 
ning  back  and  forth  in  an  excitement  of  their  own.  The 
place  hummed  with  business;  messengers  and  clerks 
came  in  from  the  elevators ;  contractors  exchanged  words 
with  the  busy  Cook ;  and  through  all  sounded  the  inces 
sant  call  of  the  telephone,  the  bang  of  the  typewriter. 
A  hive  of  industry  !  It  would  have  pleased  the  energetic 
soul  of  the  manager  of  Steele's  emporium. 

Meantime  the  wife  was  thinking,  "What  does  it 
mean  to  him  f"  When  they  began  their  married  life  in 


THE   COMMON   LOT  187 

a  flat  on  the  North  Side,  Jackson  had  brought  his  sketches 
home ;  and  she  had  kept  for  his  use  a  little  closet-like 
room  off  the  hall  where  he  worked  evenings.  But  from 
the  time  they  had  moved  into  the  Loring  house  he  had 
rarely  brought  home  his  work  ;  he  was  too  tired  at  night 
and  felt  the  need  for  distraction  when  he  left  the  office. 
Had  he  lost  his  interest  in  the  art  side  of  his  profession  ? 
Was  he  turning  it  into  a  money-making  business,  like 
Steele's  ?  She  reproached  herself  as  the  mere  spender 
and  enjoyer,  with  the  children,  of  the  money,  which 
came  out  of  these  ephemeral  and  careless  buildings, 
whose  pictures  dotted  the  walls. 

She  was  roused  by  the  sound  of  her  husband's  voice. 
He  was  coming  through  the  inner  door,  and  he  spoke 
loudly,  cheerily,  to  his  companion. 

"  Well,  then,  it's  settled.  Shall  I  have  Nelson  draw 
the  papers  ?  "  A  thick,  cautious  voice  replied  in  words 
that  were  unintelligible,  which  caused  the  architect  to 
laugh.  Then  they  emerged  into  the  outer  office.  The 
stranger's  square,  heavy  face,  his  grizzled  beard,  and 
thick  eyebrows  were  not  unknown  to  Helen. 

"  So  long,  Hart,"  the  contractor  murmured,  as  he  dis 
appeared  into  the  hall. 

"  Why,  Helen  !  You  here ! "  the  architect  exclaimed 
when  he  caught  sight  of  his  wife.  "  Why  didn't  you  let 
me  know  ?  Always  tell  Miss  Fair  to  call  me." 

He  took  her  hand,  and  putting  his  other  hand  under 
her  chin  he  gave  her  a  little  caress,  like  a  busy,  indulgent 
husband. 

"  Who  was  that  man,  Francis  ?  "  she  asked. 


188  THE  COMMON   LOT 

"  The  one  who  came  out  with  me  ?  That  was  a  con 
tractor,  a  fellow  named  Graves." 

She  had  it  on  her  lips  to  say,  "  And  you  promised  me 
once  that  you  would  never  have  any  more  business  with 
him."  But  she  was  wise,  and  said  simply,  "I  came 
away  this  morning  without  enough  money,  and  I  have 
those  women  at  luncheon,  you  know." 

"  Of  course.  Here  !  I'll  get  it  for  you  in  a  minute." 
He  rang  a  bell,  and  pulling  out  a  little  check-book  from 
a  mass  of  papers,  letters,  memoranda,  that  he  carried  in 
his  pocket,  wrote  a  check  quickly  with  a  fountain  pen 
as  he  stood. 

"There,  Miss  Fair!"  He  handed  the  check  to  the 
waiting  stenographer.  "  Get  that  cashed  at  the  bank 
downstairs  and  give  the  money  to  Mrs.  Hart." 

When  the  young  woman,  with  an  impersonal  glance 
at  the  husband  and  wife,  had  disappeared,  the  architect 
turned  to  Helen  and  pulled  out  his  watch. 

"  I  may  have  to  go  to  St.  Louis  to-night.  If  you  don't 
see  me  on  the  five  two,  you'll  know  I  have  gone.  I'll  be 
back  to-morrow  night,  anyway.  That's  when  we  dine 
with  the  Crawf ords,  isn't  it  ? " 

His  mind  gave  her  only  a  superficial  attention,  and  yet 
he  seemed  happy  in  spite  of  the  pressure  of  his  affairs. 
The  intoxication  of  mere  activity,  the  excitement  of 
"  doing,"  so  potent  in  our  country,  had  got  its  grip  on 
him.  In  his  brown  eyes  there  burned  a  fire  of  restless 
thoughts,  schemes,  combinations,  which  he  was  testing  in 
his  brain  all  his  waking  moments.  Yet  he  chatted  cour 
teously  while  they  waited  for  the  stenographer  to  return. 


THE   COMMON   LOT  189 

"By  the  way,"  he  remarked,  "I  telephoned  Everett 
this  morning,  and  he  says  there's  nothing  in  that  story 
about  their  giving  the  university  the  money.  He  says 
Hollister  knows  uncle  wouldn't  have  wanted  it,  and 
Hollister  is  dead  set  against  it." 

"  Judge  Phillips  and  Mr.  Pemberton  were  on  the  train 
with  me  this  morning,  and  they  talked  about  it.  They 
don't  seem  altogether  clear  what  the  trustees  will  do  with 
the  money.  I  hope  they  won't  do  that.  It  would  be  too 
bad." 

"  I  should  say  so,"  Jackson  assented  warmly. 

He  accompanied  his  wife  downstairs  and  bought  her 
some  violets  from  the  florist  in  the  vestibule.  They 
parted  at  the  street  corner,  for  he  was  already  late  in 
meeting  an  appointment.  She  watched  him  until  he  was 
swallowed  up  by  the  swift-flowing  stream  on  the  walk, 
her  heart  a  little  sad.  He  was  admirable  toward  her  in 
every  way.  And  yet —  and  yet  —  she  hated  the  bustle 
of  the  city  that  had  caught  up  her  husband  and  set  him 
turning  in  its  titanic,  heartless  embrace.  There  rose 
before  her  the  memory  of  those  precious  days  on  the  sea 
when  they  had  begun  to  love,  and  in  some  inexplicable 
manner  it  seemed  to  her  that  after  these  years  of  closest 
intimacy  they  were  essentially  farther  apart  than  then. 

Being  a  sensible  woman,  however,  she  dismissed  her 
transient  disagreement .  with  life  and  presented  to  her 
guests  a  smiling,  cordial  face. 

Mrs.  Horace  Bushfield  was  already  waiting  for  her  in 
the  foyer  of  the  hotel,  where  a  number  of  suburban 


190  THE   COMMON  LOT 

luncheon  parties  were  assembling.  Presently  the  others 
came:  Mrs.  Bainbow,  who  was  still  toiling  to  better 
heights  of  social  prestige  and  regarded  her  acceptance 
of  this  invitation  as  a  concession  to  the  fine  arts;  Mrs. 
Ollie  Buchanan,  a  young  married  woman,  who  was  already 
a  power  on  the  St.  Isidore  hospital  board ;  the  younger 
Mrs.  Crawford  and  a  guest  of  hers  from  out  of  town ;  and 
Mrs.  Freddie  Stewart,  the  wife  of  Jackson's  partner, — 
six  in  all.  They  were  soon  seated  about  a  table,  eating 
their  oysters  and  spying  over  the  large  dining-room  for 
familiar  faces. 

"  There's  Betty  Stuart  over  there,"  Mrs.  Rainbow  re 
marked,  proud  of  the  ease  with  which  she  handled  the 
nickname.  "  My,  how  ill  she  looks  !  You  know  she  had 
typhoid  pneumonia  in  New  York.  She  looks  as  if  she 
were  going  to  walk  into  her  grave." 

"Perhaps  it  wasn't  just  typhoid,"  Mrs.  Bushfield 
added;  "they  tell  strange  stories.  Her  husband  didn't 
go  on  once  while  she  was  ill." 

"  Couldn't  get  away,  poor  man ! " 

The  two  laughed,  while  Mrs.  Buchanan  looked  at  them 
coldly. 

"Yes,  this  is  the  best  restaurant  we  have,"  Mrs. 
Bushfield  explained  apologetically  to  the  guest  from  out 
of  town.  "Chicago  has  miserable  hotels.  Wretched 
food,  too.  You  can't  help  it,  my  dear,"  —  she  turned 
good-humoredly  to  Helen,  and  then  concluded  with  the 
comfortable  superiority  of  abuse,  — "  but  Chicago  is 
still  a  village." 

Men  and  women  were  moving  noiselessly  to  and  fro 


THE   COMMON   LOT 

over  the  thickly  carpeted  floor  that  seemed  to  give  off 
an  odor  of  stale  food.  The  dull  red  walls  were  already 
streaked  here  and  there  by  soot,  and  the  coarse  lace 
curtains  at  the  windows  had  been  washed  to  a  dirty  gray 
in  fruitless  effort  to  make  them  clean.  Behind  their 
folds  on  the  window-ledges  there  had  gathered  a  thick 
sediment  of  ashes  and  coal  dust,  and  beneath  this  the 
white  paint  was  smutched  with  soot.  Nevertheless,  the 
ladies  accustomed  to  the  unconquerable  dirt  of  the  city 
ate  their  luncheon  undisturbed. 

With  the  coming  of  the  sweetbreads  Mrs.  Buchanan 
was  saying  confidentially  to  Mrs.  Rainbow :  — 

"  She's  quite  done  for  herself,  you  know.  Mrs.  Antony 
Crawford  says  that  she  will  not  have  her  again  at  her 
house.  I  should  think  that  her  mother  would  take  her 
away.  They  say  that  Stanwood  Phillips,  too,  has  dis 
graced  himself  at  Yale  —  awfully  fast.  But  Venetia 
must  be  a  perfect  little  fool.  She  might  have  had 
Stephen  Lane." 

"  So  might  any  girl  who  had  money  these  ten  years," 
Mrs.  Freddie  Stewart  remarked  positively. 

"  Beast  of  a  temper,  that  man.  I  pity  the  girl  he 
gets."  .  .  . 

"  I  must  tell  you,  —  they  were  at  the  Eltz  last  summer 
when  we  were,  and  positively  they  didn't  know  enough 
French  to  order  their  food.  Their  chauffeur  used  to 
take  them  about,  and  he  would  go  anywhere  he  had  a 
mind  to,  you  know.  Positively  helpless.  So  we  took 
pity  on  them,  you  know,  and  showed  them  things  for  a 
time." 


192  THE   COMMON   LOT 

On  the  other  side  of  the  table  Mrs.  Crawford's  voice 
was  raised  in  protest  to  Helen. 

"  You  can't  shop  in  this  place.  Steele's  has  got  as  bad 
as  the  rest.  I  go  to  New  York  for  everything."  .  .  . 

"  Isn't  Sembrich  getting  too  fat  to  sing  ?  "  .  .  . 

"  Who  is  that  new  tenor  ?  I  heard  him  in  London  last 
spring.  He  was  fine."  .  .  . 

At  last  Helen  ventured  to  say,  "  We  should  be  start 
ing,  if  we  are  to  hear  the  Leonore  overture." 

"Oh!  bother  the  overture.  Let's  stay  here  and  talk 
until  it's  time  for  Sembrich.  The  rest  of  it  is  such  a 
bore,"  Mrs.  Eainbow  protested,  nursing  covetously  her 
ice. 

Finally  the  company  got  under  way  and  proceeded  to 
the  concert  hall,  much  to  Helen's  relief.  She  had  no 
complaint  to  make  of  her  guests,  who  had  been  got 
together  for  Mrs.  Stewart's  pleasure.  They  were  quite 
as  intelligent  women  as  she  was,  and  all  of  them  more 
important  than  she  in  the  sphere  where  they  lived.  They 
were  good  wives,  and  two  of  them  good  mothers.  Their 
talk,  however,  had  seemed  to  her  intolerably  petty  and 
egotistical,  reflecting  a  barren  life  of  suburban  gossip 
and  city  sprees.  Their  husbands,  working  furiously 
here  in  the  resounding  city,  maintained  them  in  luxury 
for  their  relaxation  and  amusement,  and  provided  they 
kept  on  the  broad  avenues  of  married  life  cared  little 
how  they  spent  their  days.  In  Steele's  great  store,  and  in 
a  thousand  other  stores  and  factories  of  the  vast  city,  girls 
and  women  were  mechanically  pounding  their  machines 
hour  after  hour.  The  fine  flower  of  all  their  dead  labor  in 


THE   COMMON  LOT  193 

nfe  was  the  luxury  of  these  women,  who  ate  and  dressed, 
loved,  married,  and  had  children  in  idleness  and  ease.  .  .  . 

The  waiter  came  with  the  bill,  —  eighteen  dollars  and 
thirty  cents,  and  two  dollars  to  the  waiter  who  stood 
eying  the  tray.  Helen  had  been  rather  ashamed,  too, 
of  the  simplicity  of  the  food.  She  had  not  offered  them 
wine,  which  she  knew  Mrs.  Crawford  was  used  to  having 
at  luncheon.  Jackson  would  have  laughed  at  her  econ 
omy  or  been  irritated  by  it.  They  often  entertained 
friends  in  this  same  restaurant  after  the  theatre,  and 
she  had  seen  the  waiter  carry  off  two  twenty-dollar 
bills  and  return  with  very  little  change.  It  seemed 
to  her  plain  nature  simply  wicked  to  pay  so  much 
money  —  the  blood  of  human  beings  —  merely  to  eat. 
They  paid,  she  knew,  for  the  tarnished  ceilings,  the 
heavy  carpets,  the  service  —  all  the  infinite  tawdry  luxe 
of  modern  life. 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  Jackson  demanded  impatiently  when 
she  protested.  "  Don't  I  make  it  ?  If  I  want  to  spend 
it  on  champagne  and  crab-meat,  why  shouldn't  I?  I 
hustle  hard  enough  to  get  it." 

The  argument  was  positive,  but  she  felt  that  it  was 
imperfect.  Yet  all  their  friends  lived  as  they  did,  or 
even  better:  the  bill  for  pleasure  with  them  all  was  a 
large  one.  .  .  . 

By  the  time  they  had  reached  Mrs.  Phillips's  box, 
which  they  were  to  occupy,  the  concert  was  well  ad 
vanced.  The  massive  chords  of  the  Tschaikowscy's  sym 
phony  broke  through  the  low  chatter  of  the  boxes. 

"  One  of  those  bangy  Russian  things,"  Mrs.  Rainbow 


194  THE   COMMON  LOT 

whispered  ruefully,  as  she  tugged  at  her  wrap  in  fat 
helplessness. 

Helen  helped  her  to  disengage  her  lace  and  then 
arranged  the  chairs  for  her  guests.  While  the  women 
opened  their  opera-glasses  and  took  a  preliminary  sur 
vey  of  the  hall,  she  sank  into  the  rear  seat,  pulled  the 
chenille  portiere  half  over  her  face,  and  closed  her  eyes. 

That  "  bangy  Eussian  thing "  whipped  her  blood  and 
sent  strange  pictures  flying  through  her  head.  For  the 
moment  it  loosed  the  cords  that  seemed  to  bind  her  to  a 
stake.  The  heat  and  smell  and  twaddling  voices  of  the 
hotel  dining-room  faded  away.  And  in  its  place  the 
divine  music  filled  her  soul,  transforming  her  from  a 
weak  and  doubting  woman,  who  floated  helplessly  in 
her  petty  world  of  comforts,  into  some  more  active, 
striving  creature,  —  a  maker  and  moulder  of  life! 


CHAPTER  XV 

JACKSON  had  lately  bought  a  couple  of  hunters,  and 
Sundays,  when  it  was  good  weather,  Helen  and  he  often 
went  over  to  the  club  stables  to  see  the  horses  and  the 
hounds.  It  was  a  pleasant  spot  of  a  fine  summer  morn 
ing.  The  close-cropped  turf  rolled  gently  westward 
from  the  brow  of  the  hill  on  which  the  club-house  stood 
to  a  large  horizon  of  fields,  where  a  few  isolated  trees, 
branching  loftily,  rose  against  a  clear  sky.  The  stables 
were  hidden  in  a  little  hollow  some  distance  from  the 
house,  and  beyond  them  was  a  paddock  where  a  yelping 
pack  of  hounds  was  kenelled.  Close  at  hand  some  cap 
tive  foxes  crouched  in  their  pen,  listening  sharp-eyed  and 
fearful  to  the  noisy  chorus  of  their  enemies. 

No  sports  of  any  kind  were  allowed  on  Sundays,  for 
the  community  was  severely  orthodox  in  regard  to  the 
observance  of  Sunday,  as  in  other  merely  moral  matters. 
But  when  the  weather  was  good  there  were  usually 
to  be  found  about  the  stables  a  number  of  young  men 
and  women,  preparing  for  tete-a-te"te  rides  over  the 
country  roads  or  practising  jumps  at  the  stone  wall 
beside  the  paddock.  Later  in  the  morning  they  would 
stroll  back  to  the  club  veranda  for  a  cool  drink,  and 

196 


196 

gossip  until  the  church-going  members  returned  from 
service,  and  it  was  time  to  dress  for  luncheon. 

Of  the  younger  set  Venetia  Phillips  was  most  often  to 
be  found  down  by  the  stone  wall  on  a  Sunday  morning. 
She  had  come  home  from  Europe  this  last  time  hand 
some,  tall,  and  fearless,  thirsty  for  excitement  of  all  sorts, 
and  had  made  much  talk  in  the  soberer  circles  of  subur 
ban  society.  She  was  a  great  lover  of  dogs  and  horses, 
and  went  about  followed  by  a  troop  of  lolloping  dogs 
—  an  immense  bull  presented  by  an  English  admirer, 
and  a  wolf  hound  specially  imported,  being  the  leaders 
of  the  pack.  She  was  one  of  the  young  women  who 
still  played  golf  now  that  it  was  no  longer  fashion 
able,  and  on  hot  days  she  might  be  seen  on  the  links, 
her  brown  arms  bare  to  the  shoulders,  and  her  blue  black 
hair  hanging  down  her  back  in  a  flood.  She  rode  to  all 
the  hunts,  not  excepting  the  early  morning  meets  late 
in  the  season.  It  was  said,  also,  that  she  drank  too 
much  champagne  at  the  hunt  dinners,  and  occasion 
ally  allowed  a  degree  of  familiarity  to  her  admirers 
that  shocked  public  opinion  in  a  respectable  and  censo 
rious  society  which  had  found  it  hard  to  tolerate  the 
mother. 

Indeed,  Mrs.  Phillips  could  do  nothing  with  her ;  she 
even  confided  her  troubles  to  Helen.  "  My  dear,  the 
girl  has  had  every  chance  over  there  abroad; — we  had 
the  very  best  introductions.  She  spoiled  it  all  by  her 
idiocy.  Stanwood  is  making  a  fool  of  himself  with  a 
woman,  too.  Enjoy  your  children  now,  while  you  can 
spank  them  when  they  are  naughty." 


THE   COMMON   LOT  197 

And  Helen,  although  she  had  scant  sympathy  with  the 
domestic  tribulations  of  the  rich,  was  puzzled  by  the 
girl.  The  friendship  between  them,  which  had  begun 
so  prosperously  over  Pete's  sick-bed,  had  largely  faded 
away.  The  winter  after  their  visits  to  Dr.  Coburn's 
laboratory  Venetia  had  spent  in  a  famous  Eastern  school, 
where  Western  girls  of  her  class  were  sent  to  acquire 
that  finish  of  manner  which  is  still  supposed  to  be  the 
peculiar  property  of  the  older  communities.  On  her  return 
she  was  no  longer  the  impulsive  girl  that  stared  wide-eyed 
at  the  eccentric  doctor's  opinions  ;  there  were  reticencies 
in  her  which  the  married  woman  could  not  overcome. 
Since  then  their  paths  had  crossed  more  rarely,  and  when 
they  met  there  was  a  certain  teasing  bravado  inVenetia's 
attitude  which  prevented  intimacy. 

Mrs.  Buchanan's  pungent  gossip  about  the  girl,  and 
the  widow's  bitter  complaint  of  her  daughter,  rose  to 
Helen's  mind  one  Sunday  as  they  stood  together  at  the 
stone  wall  by  the  club  stables,  watching  Lane,  who  was 
trying  a  new  hunter.  Lane's  temper  was  notoriously 
bad ;  the  Kentucky  horse  was  raw  and  nervous ;  he 
refused  the  jump,  almost  throwing  his  rider.  Lane,  too 
conscious  of  the  spectators,  his  vanity  touched,  beat  the 
horse  savagely  on  the  head. 

"  Low  ! "  Venetia  grumbled  audibly,  turning  her  back 
on  the  scene.  "  Come  ! "  she  said  to  Helen,  seizing  her 
arm.  "  Haven't  you  had  enough  of  brutes  for  one  morn 
ing  ?  Come  up  to  the  club  and  have  a  talk.  That's  the 
man  madam  my  mother  would  like  to  have  me  marry! 
Do  you  suppose  he'd  use  the  whip  on  his  wife  ? " 


198  THE   COMMON  LOT 

"  He  has  his  good  side,  even  if  his  temper  is  short," 
Helen  objected,  as  they  strolled  across  the  links  toward 
the  club-house.  "  You  might  do  worse,  Venetia." 

"  Quite  the  picture  of  a  young  girl's  fancy !  Forty- 
eight,  and  he's  asked  every  eligible  girl  in  the  city  to 
marry  him,  and  they  have  all  shied.  So  do  I,  though  I 
wasn't  in  the  running  over  there  in  London — in  spite  of 
all  the  fuss  the  Chicago  papers  made  about  me,  I  wasn't 
— you  know  Mrs.  Phillips  runs  a  regular  press  bureau! 
But  I  am  not  quite  down  to  him  yet." 

They  had  the  club  veranda  to  themselves  at  that  mid- 
morning  hour.  Venetia  flung  herself  into  a  chair  and 
flicked  the  tips  of  her  boots  with  her  whip.  The  small 
Francis,  who  had  followed  his  mother,  tumbled  on  the 
grass  with  the  terrier  Pete.  Now  and  then  Pete,  who 
was  privileged  on  Sundays,  would  hobble  to  the  ve 
randa  and  look  at  his  mistress. 

"You  wouldn't  marry  a  man  like  that,  now  would 
you  ?  Well  ?  You  want  to  say  something  disagree 
able,  don't  you !  You  have  had  it  on  your  conscience 
for  weeks.  I  could  see  it  in  your  eye  the  other  after 
noon  when  you  were  with  Mrs.  Freddie  Stewart  — 
that  nice  little  cat.  Gome,  spit  it  out,  as  the  boys 
say." 

"  Yes,  I  have  had  something  on  my  mind." 

"  You  don't  like  me  now  that  I  have  grown  up  ?  " 

"  I  thought  we  should  be  so  much  better  friends," 
Helen  admitted  frankly. 

tl  I  am  not  the  nice  little  girl  you  used  to  know  when 
the  doctor  entertained  us  and  Pete  with  scientific  con- 


THE   COMMON  LOT  199 

versation  mixed  with  social  philosophy  —  that's  what 
troubles  you  ?  " 

"  Why  —  why  are  you  so  different  ?  " 

"  You  mean,  why  do  I  smoke  ?  drink  champagne  ?  and 
let  men  kiss  me  ?  " 

She  laughed  at  the  look  of  consternation  on  Helen's  face. 

"That's  what  you  mean,  isn't  it?  My  sporting 
around  generally,  and  drinking  too  much  wine  at  that 
dinner  last  fall,  and  supplying  these  veranda  tabbies 
with  so  much  food  for  thought  ?  Why  can't  I  be  the 
nice,  sweet  young  woman  you  were  before  you  were 
married  ?  A  comfort  to  Mrs.  Phillips  and  an  ornament 
to  Forest  Manor ! " 

"  You  needn't  be  all  that,  and  yet  strike  a  pleasanter 
note,"  the  older  woman  laughed  back. 

"  My  dear  gray  mouse,  I'm  lots  worse  than  that.  Do 
you  know  where  I  was  the  other  night  when  mamma 
was  in  such  a  temper  because  I  hadn't  come  home, 
and  telephoned  all  around  to  the  neighbors  ? " 

"At  the  Bascoms'?" 

"  Of  course,  all  sweetly  tucked  up  in  bed.  Not  a  bit 
of  it !  A  lot  of  us  had  dinner  and  went  to  see  a  show 
—  that  was  all  on  the  square.  But  afterward  Teddy 
Stearns  and  I  did  the  Clark  Street  levee,  at  one  in 
the  morning,  and  quite  by  ourselves.  We  saw  heaps 
and  heaps  —  it  was  very  informing —  I  could  tell  you  such 
stories !  And  it  went  all  right  until  Teddy,  like  a  little 
fool,  got  into  trouble  at  one  of  the  places.  Some  one 
said  something  to  me  not  quite  refined,  and  Ted  was 
just  enough  elated  to  be  on  his  dignity.  If  we  hadn't 


200  THE   COMMON   LOT 

had  an  awful  piece  of  luck,  there  would  have  been 
a  little  paragraph  in  the  papers  the  next  morning. 
Wouldn't  that  have  made  a  noise  ?  " 

"  You  little  fool ! "  groaned  Helen. 

"  Oh !  I  don't  know,"  Venetia  continued  imperturb- 
ably.  "  Let  me  tell  you  about  it.  Just  as  I  had  hold 
of  Ted  and  was  trying  to  calm  him  down,  somebody 
hit  him,  and  there  was  a  general  scrap.  Ted  isn't  so 
much  of  a  fool  when  he  is  all  sober.  Just  then  a  man 
grabbed  me,  and  I  found  myself  on  the  street.  It  was  — 
Well,  no  matter  just  now  who  it  was.  Then  the  man 
went  back  for  Ted,  and  after  a  time  he  got  him,  rather 
the  worse  for  his  experience.  We  had  to  send  him  to 
a  hotel,  and  then  my  rescuer  saw  me  home  to  the 
Bascoms'.  My,  what  a  talking  he  put  up  to  me  on  the 
way  to  the  North  Side  ! " 

She  waited  to  see  what  effect  she  had  produced,  but  as 
Helen  said  nothing  she  continued  with  a  laugh :  — 

"  I  suppose  you  are  thinking  I  am  a  regular  little  red 
devil.  But  you  don't  know  what  girls  do.  I've  seen  a 
lot  of  girls  all  over.  And  most  of  'em,  if  they  travel  in 
a  certain  class,  do  just  as  fool  things  as  that.  On  the 
quiet,  you  understand,  and  most  of  them  don't  get  into 
trouble,  either.  They  marry  all  right  in  the  end,  and 
become  quiet  little  mammas  like  you,  dear.  Some 
times,  when  they  are  silly,  or  weak,  or  have  bad  luck, 
there's  trouble.  Now,  I  am  not  talking  loose,  as  Ted 
would  say.  I've  known  Baltimore  girls,  and  New 
York  girls,  and  Philadelphia  girls,  and  Boston  girls,  — • 
and  the  Boston  ones  are  the  worst  everl 


THE   COMMON   LOT  201 

"Why  should  the  women  be  so  different  from  the 
men,  anyway?  They  are  the  same  flesh  and  blood  as 
their  fathers  and  brothers,  and  other  girls'  fathers  and 
brothers,  too.  .  .  .  Don't  make  that  face  at  me !  I'm 
nice  enough,  too,  at  least  a  little  nice.  Didn't  you  ever 
sit  here  evenings,  or  over  at  the  Eversley  Club,  and 
watch  the  nice  little  girls  ?  But  perhaps  you  couldn't 
tell  what  it  means  when  they  do  things  and  say  things. 
You  ought  to  get  a  few  points  from  me  or  some  other  girl 
who  is  next  them.  We  could  tell  you  what  they've  been 
up  to  ever  since  they  left  school,  day  by  day." 

The  small  Francis  was  rolling  over  and  over  on  the 
green  turf,  rejoicing  in  the  freedom  of  soiling  his  white 
suit.  Beyond  the  polo  field  a  couple  on  horseback  were 
passing  slowly  along  the  curving  road  into  the  woods. 
The  cicadas  sang  their  piercing  August  song  among  the 
shrubs.  It  was  a  drowsy,  decorous  scene. 

"  It  isn't  all  like  that,"  the  older  woman  protested,  look 
ing  out  on  the  pleasant  landscape.  "You  can  choose 
what  you  will  have." 

"  Do  you  think  I  should  do  any  better  if  I  chose  your 
kind,  my  dear  ? "  Venetia  asked  quietly.  "  Or  my 
mother's  ?  Is  Maida  Rainbow's  conversation  an  im 
provement  on  Ted's  ?  It  isn't  any  more  grammatical. 
And  Mrs.  Ollie  Buchanan's  talk  is  worse  than  mine. 
Come  now,  dear  lady,  tell  me  the  truth !  After  several 
winters  by  the  suburban  fireside  do  you  still  find  your 
heart  beating  warmly  when  hubbie  plods  up  the  street  at 
eve  in  his  new  auto  ?  Do  you  advise  me  to  marry  Mr. 
Stephen  Lane  and  transfer  my  activities  to  Breathett 


202  THE  COMMON   LOT 

Lodge,  —  join  the  tabby  chorus,  just  to  keep  the  tabbies 
quiet  ?  Is  the  married  state  of  all  these  people  you  and 
I  know  out  here  to  be  so  much  desired  ?  " 

"Most  of  the  men  and  women  you  know  here  in 
Chicago  are  not  bad." 

"  Oh,  no  !  They're  good  out  here,  most  of  'em,  and  dull, 
damn  dull.  They're  afraid  to  take  off  their  gloves  for 
fear  it  isn't  the  correct  thing.  A  lot  of  'em  aren't  used 
to  good  clothes,  like  that  Mrs.  Rainbow.  As  uncle  says, 
'  Our  best  people  are  religious  and  moral.'  But  there's 
more  going  on  than  you  dream  of,  gray  mouse." 

"  You  are  too  wise,  Venetia." 

"I'll  tell  you  the  reason  why  we  sport.  We're  dull, 
and  we  are  looking  for  some  fun.  The  men  get  all  the 
excitement  they  need  scrambling  for  money.  Girls 
want  to  be  sports,  too,  and  they  can't  do  the  money  act. 
So  they  sport — otherwise.  That's  the  why." 

She  rapped  the  floor  with  her  whip,  and  laughed  at 
Helen's  perplexity. 

"I  want  to  be  a  real  sport,  and  know  what  men  are 
like,  really,  when  they  are  off  parade,  as  you  nice  women 
don't  know  'em." 

«  Well,  what  are  they  like  ?  " 

"  Some  beasts,  some  cads,  some  good  fellows,"  Venetia 
pronounced  definitively.  "  Do  you  know  why  I  let  men 
kiss  me  sometimes  ?  To  see  if  they  will,  if  that  sort  of 
thing  is  all  they  want  of  me.  And  most  of  'em  do 
want  just  that,  married  or  single.  When  a  man  has 
the  chance,  why,  he  goes  back  to  the  ape  mighty 
quick." 


THE   COMMON  LOT  203 

She  nodded  sagely  when  Helen  laughed  at  her  air  of 
wisdom,  and  she  continued  undisturbed :  — 

"  There  are  some  of  them  now,  coming  up  from  the 
paddock.  They  have  had  their  little  Sunday  stroll,  and 
now  they  want  a  drink  to  make  them  feel  cool  and 
comfy,  and  some  conversation  with  the  ladies.  We  must 
trot  out  our  prettiest  smiles  and  smoothest  talk  while 
they  sit  tight  and  are  amused." 

"  And  so  you  think  this  is  all,  just  these  women  and 
men  you  see  here  and  in  other  places  like  this  ?  And 
the  millions  and  millions  of  others  who  are  trying  to  live 
decent  lives,  who  work  and  struggle  ?  " 

"  I  talk  of  those  I  know,  dearie.  What  are  the  rest  to 
me  ?  Just  dull,  ordinary  people  you  never  meet  except 
on  the  street  or  in  the  train.  We  are  the  top  of  it  all. 
...  I  don't  care  for  books  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  or 
for  slumming  and  playing  with  the  poor.  If  you  knew 
them,  too,  I  guess  you'd  find  much  the  same  little  game 
going  on  down  there." 

"  What  a  horrid  world !  " 

"  It  is  a  bit  empty,"  the  girl  yawned.  "  I  suppose  the 
only  thing,  after  you  have  had  your  run,  is  to  marry  the 
decentest  man  you  can  find,  who  won't  get  drunk,  or 
spend  your  money,  or  beat  you,  and  have  a  lot  of  chil 
dren.  Yours  are  awfully  nice!  I'd  like  to  have  the 
kids  without  the  husband  —  only  that  would  make  such 
a  row ! " 

"  That  would  please  your  mother,  to  have  you  married." 

"  Oh,  mother !  I  suppose  it  would  please  her  to  have 
me  marry  Mr.  Stephen  Lane,"  Venetia  answered  coldly. 


204  THE   COMMON   LOT 

"  One  doesn't  talk  about  one's  mother,  or  I'd  like  to  tell 
you  a  thing  or  two  on  that  head.  She  needn't  worry 
over  me.  She's  had  her  fun,  and  is  taking  what  she  can 
get  now." 

The  group  of  men  and  women  drew  near  the  club 
house.  Jackson  stopped  to  speak  to  a  man  who  had  just 
driven  up»  Venetia  pointed  to  him  derisively. 

"  There !  See  Jackie,  your  good  man  ?  He's  buzzing 
old  Pemberton,  that  crusty  pillar  of  society,  because  he's 
got  a  little  game  to  play  with  him.  He's  after  old  Pemby's 
vote  for  that  schoolhouse.  You  mustn't  look  so  haughty, 
dear  wife.  It's  your  business,  too,  to  be  nice  to  dear 
Mr.  Pemberton.  I  shall  leave  you  when  he  comes  up,  so 
that  you  can  beguile  him  with  your  sweet  ways.  It's 
money  in  thy  husband's  purse,  mouse,  and  hence  in  thy 
children's  mouths.  Now  if  we  women  could  scramble 
for  the  dollars,  —  why,  we  shouldn't  want  other  kinds  of 
mischief.  I'd  like  to  be  ft  big  broker,  like  Rainbow,  and 
handle  deals,  and  make  the  other  fellows  pay,  pay,  pay!" 

She  swung  the  small  Francis  over  her  head  and  tum 
bled  him  in  the  grass,  to  the  delight  of  Pete,  who 
hobbled  about  his  mistress,  yelping  with  joy. 

There  was  something  hard  and  final  in  the  girl's  sum 
mary  of  her  experience.  And  yet  in  spite  of  the  obvious 
injustice  of  her  accusations,  Helen  felt  startled  and 
ashamed  before  her  railing.  After  all,  was  there 
such  an  infinite  distance  between  the  decent  lives  of 
herself,  her  husband,  and  their  friends  and  the  heed 
less  career  of  this  undisciplined  girl  ?  Were  they  gov 
erned  by  finer  ends  than  hers  ?  Vigorous,  hot-blooded, 


THE   COMMON   LOT  205 

and  daring,  Venetia  would  have  battled  among  men  as 
an  equal,  and  got  from  the  fight  for  existence  health,  and 
sanity,  and  joy.  As  it  was,  she  was  rich  enough  to  be  pro 
tected  in  the  struggle  for  existence,  and  was  tied  down 
by  the  prejudices  of  her  class.  She  was  bottled  passion  ! 

The  architect  still  held  Pemberton  in  conversation  on 
the  drive,  and  Venetia  presently  returned  to  Helen,  smil 
ing  slyly  into  her  face. 

"  That  doctor  man  was  an  amusing  chap,  wasn't  he  ? 
I  mean  Dr.  Coburn,  the  one  who  mended  up  Pete  when  I 
was  a  young  miss,  and  outraged  mamma  by  sending  her 
a  receipted  bill  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  He 
asks  about  you  still.  Why  did  you  drop  him  ?  I  always 
thought  that  was  a  bit  queer  in  you,  you  know.  You 
liked  him,  but  he  wasn't  your  kind,  and  you  dropped 
him." 

"  Where  have  you  seen  him  ?  "  Helen  asked  evasively. 

"  Oh,  here  and  there.  He  writes  me  pretty  often,  too. 
Why  not  ?  He  was  the  man  who  helped  me  out  of  that 
scrape  with  Teddy.  WTouldn't  Jackie  let  you  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  him  ?  Jack  is  an  awful  snob,  you 
know." 

"Francis  didn't  like  him,"  Helen  admitted  a  little 
sadly.  "  I  am  afraid  I  didn't  make  much  of  an  effort 
either  with  him  or  with  that  poor  Mr.  Hussey.  It's  so 
hard  to  do  some  things,  to  know  people  you  like  when 
they're  out  of  your  path." 

Venetia  scrutinized  the  older  woman's  face  and  laughed. 

"  Just  so !    What  did  I  tell  you  ?  " 


206  THE   COMMON   LOT 

"How  is  he?" 

"  Just  as  always,  —  poor,  down  at  the  heel  and  all  over, 
an  out-and-out  crank." 

"  How  do  you  meet  him  ?  "  Helen  asked  pointedly. 

"  Sometimes  at  his  hang-out,  as  he  calls  it.  I've  had 
supper  there  once  or  twice  with  Molly  Bascoin.  You 
needn't  be  alarmed.  We  talk  science,  and  he  abuses 
doctors.  He  trundled  off  to  Paris  or  Vienna  with  that 
queer  machine  of  his,  and  got  some  encouragement  over 
there.  You  should  hear  him  talk  about  Europe !  Now 
he's  crazy  over  some  new  bugs  he's  found.  He  may  not 
make  good  from  Jack's  point  of  view.  But  you  see  that 
doesn't  prevent  me  from  liking  him.  He  has  a  great 
time  thinking  all  by  himself.  He'd  starve  himself  to 
death  if  he  had  to,  to  do  what  he's  after.  That's  the  real 
thing.  I  offered  him  money  once  to  help  him  out. " 

"  Venetia,  not  that ! " 

"  Yes.  I  said,  '  See  here,  my  friend,  I've  more  of  this 
than  I  want,'  which  was  a  lie.  But  I  was  willing  to  sell 
a  horse  or  two.  '  Help  yourself,'  I  said,  and  when  I  want 
it  I'll  ask  you.'  I  put  a  cardcase  I  had  with  me  on  the 
table,  stuffed  of  course.  He  took  it  up,  took  out  what 
was  in  it,  handed  the  money  back,  and  dropped  the  case 
in  a  drawer.  'None  of  that,'  he  said.  'I  don't  take 
money  from  a  woman.'  I  was  glad  afterward  that  he 
didn't  take  it,  though  I  don't  know  why  —  he  looked  spe 
cially  hard  up.  I  suppose  I  might  have  done  it  a  nicer 
way,  but  I  thought  he  would  understand  and  treat  me 
like  a  little  girl,  as  he  always  has.  .  .  .  Well,  here 
comes  Jack  at  last." 


THE   COMMON   LOT  207 

She  gave  the  architect  a  hand,  which  he  shook  with 
mock  impressiveness. 

"  How  do,  Jackie !  I've  been  teaching  your  domestic 
angel  a  thing  or  two." 

"  I  guess  you  can't  corrupt  her. " 

It  was  evident  that  she  and  Jackson  understood  each 
other  very  well. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SEASON  shifted  into  season,  and  meanwhile  an  impal 
pable  veil  of  difference  was  falling  between  the  architect 
and  his  wife.  The  peaceful  days  of  winter,  early  spring, 
and  late  autumn  were  precious  to  the  woman  —  days  when 
the  silent  processes  of  nature  touched  her  senses  softly, 
and  she  could  live  undisturbed  by  calls  and  dinners  with 
their  array  of  familiar  faces.  Then  she  heard  the  birds 
in  the  trees  behind  the  house,  and  listened  to  the  rustling 
of  the  tall  poplars  beneath  her  windows,  and  watched  the 
vivid  colors  of  the  lake.  This  harmony  of  nature,  this 
great  enveloping  organism  of  peace,  she  was  beginning 
to  feel,  was  all  that  life  held  for  her,  —  nature  and  her 
children,  whose  wants  she  fulfilled.  Yet  ever  in  the  back 
ground,  not  far  away,  there  hung  in  the  horizon  that  black 
bloud  above  the  city,  which  could  not  wholly  be  shut  out 
In  any  revery  of  country  peace.  For  with  it  she  and  her 
children  were  linked  by  all  the  cords  of  modern  life. 

She  had  felt  the  sly  reproach  in  Venetia's  references 
to  Dr.  Coburn.  The  seedy  doctor  had  drawn  her  strongly, 
and  yet  in  the  face  of  her  husband's  contemptuous 
indifference  to  him  she  had  made  but  one  or  two 
feeble  attempts  to  reach  him.  A  few  times,  also, 

208 


THE   COMMON   LOT  209 

she  had  visited  the  bookbinder's  sickly  wife,  and  after 
the  birth  of  little  Francis  had  revived  the  class  in 
bookbinding.  Jackson  had  fitted  up  a  studio  for  the 
class  out  of  an  old  teahouse  on  the  bluff,  where  during 
mild  weather  they  received  their  friends  in  aesthetic 
informality.  But  the  class  had  soon  dwindled,  the  young 
married  women  of  whom  it  was  composed  flitting  to  other 
pursuits,  and  the  taciturn  bookbinder  taking  offence  at  a 
fancied  slight  suddenly  ceased  his  visits.  Some  weeks 
later  when  Helen  called  at  the  Husseys'  rooms  to  see  the 
wife,  she  found  that  they  had  moved  away,  and  having 
written  Dr.  Coburn  for  their  address  without  success,  she 
had  made  no  further  attempt  to  find  them. 

Thus  ended  her  efforts  to  reach  that  world  which  lay 
outside  her  own  circle.  More  and  more,  as  her  married 
life  went  on,  she  had  succumbed  to  the  milieu  that  her 
husband  had  chosen.  As  his  struggle  for  success  grew 
hotter,  she,  too,  in  her  way,  had  been  absorbed  into  it,  and 
had  become  the  domestic  and  social  satellite  which  he 
needed  in  his  relations  with  rich  clients.  And  so  Vene- 
tia's  careless  defence  of  herself  pricked  her.  Was  there, 
after  all,  anything  more  admirable  in  the  decent  life  that 
she  and  her  husband  led  with  its  little  circle  of  selfish 
activities  than  in  the  crude  outbreaks  of  Venetia  Phillips 
which  had  caused  so  much  perturbation  in  Forest  Park  ? 
They  were  not  vicious  to  be  sure,  —  the  people  she  lived 
with ;  they  were  merely  dull  and  negative. 

One  of  these  brooding  days  shortly  after  the  talk  on 
the  club  veranda,  Helen  set  forth  to  a  neighbor's  with  a 


210  THE  COMMON   LOT 

bundle  of  books  and  some  flowers  for  Mrs.  Buchanan, 
who  was  giving  a  dinner  that  evening.  She  had  reached 
the  point  in  the  winding  road  where  a  long  bridge  crossed 
a  deep  ravine  on  the  level  with  the  topmost  branches  of 
lofty  trees.  At  the  other  end  of  the  bridge  a  man  was 
standing  looking  down  into  the  green  depths  below.  He 
was  so  much  absorbed  in  the  ravine  that  he  did  not  hear 
the  woman's  steps  as  she  drew  near.  When  she  passed 
behind  him,  he  glanced  up  with  a  startled  look  in  his 
black  eyes,  and  grasping  the  bicycle  by  his  side  was 
moving  off. 

"  Don't  you  remember  me,  Mr.  Hussey  ?  "  Helen  asked, 
holding  out  her  hand.  "  How  are  you  ?  I  am  so  glad 
to  see  you  again.  Did  you  ride  out  all  the  way  from 
the  city  ?  We  don't  see  many  bicycles  these  days." 

She  poured  forth  her  little  flood  of  amiable  sentences, 
while  the  bookbinder  stood  quietly  holding  his  wheel. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  slowly,  when  she  paused.  "I 
rode  out  on  my  wheel.  I  wanted  to  see  how  the  country 
looked." 

He  paused  and  then  continued:  "Yes,  I've  been  out 
of  the  city  considerable  after  my  wife  died.  I  went 
West,  to  Kansas  City.  But  I  came  back.  I'm  used  to 
this  place.  My  woman  died  here,  and  the  child,  too." 

"  I  tried  to  find  you  after  the  class  broke  up,"  Helen 
explained.  "  I  wanted  to  get  your  wife  to  come  out  here 
and  visit  me." 

"That  was  nice  and  kind  of  you,"  he  answered 
dryly. 

"  I  have  an  errand  a  little  way  from  here.    Won't  you 


THE   COMMON   LOT  211 

go  with  me  and  then  come  back  to  the  house  ?  "  she  per 
sisted,  piqued  by  his  tone. 

"  Thank  you,  I  don't  believe  I  will.  It's  time  I  was 
starting  back  to  the  city." 

"  You  had  better  rest  awhile  first." 

"  I  ain't  particularly  tired.  You  are  very  good.  What 
do  you  want  me  to  come  for  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly,  and 
then  continued  to  speak  as  if  he  were  talking  to  himself : 
"You  and  I  ain't  the  same  kind  of  folks.  We  are 
placed  different  on  this  earth,  and  there's  no  getting  away 
from  the  fact.  It's  best  for  us  both  to  keep  where  we 
belong." 

"  Nonsense ! "  she  retorted. 

"As  I  have  looked  about  among  folks,"  he  went  on 
calmly,  "  I've  seen  that's  the  best  way,  in  the  long  run 
—  for  the  rich  and  the  poor  to  keep  to  themselves. 
That's  why  you  didn't  see  nothing  of  me  after  the  ladies 
got  tired  of  binding  books.  Not  that  I've  got  anything 
against  those  better  fortuned  than  me.  It's  just  the  way 
things  are  made  to  run.  So  long  as  the  present  order 
lasts,  man  is  divided  from  man  —  and  that's  all  there  is 
to  it.  The  only  use  the  poor  man  has  for  the  rich  man 
is  to  get  work  from  him  and  some  pay  for  it.  The  only 
use  the  rich  man  has  for  the  poor  man  is  to  get  his  work 
done.  And  they'd  better  do  their  business  apart,  as  far 
apart  as  they  can." 

"  My  husband  isn't  rich.     We  have  to  struggle,  too." 

Hussey  smiled  sceptically. 

"  I  had  all  I  could  do  when  the  woman  was  living  to 
keep  a  decent  room  or  two,  and  find  enough  to  eat 


212  THE    COMMON   LOT 

There's  some  difference  between  us,  ain't  there  ?  And  I 
don't  speak  like  you,  and  maybe  I  eat  different  at  the 
table." 

"  That's  all  very  important,"  Helen  laughed. 

"  It's  the  little  things  that  separate,  not  the  big  ones. 
You  look  around  your  own  kind  of  folks  and  see  if  that's 
not  so.  It's  just  the  silly  scraps  of  ways  that  keep  man 
from  man." 

"  Well,  it's  too  good  a  day  to  quarrel  about  that.  At 
least,  you  and  I  can  both  enjoy  those  trees  down  there." 

A  victoria  came  toward  them  at  a  lively  trot,  making 
the  wooden  planking  resound.  The  lady  in  the  carriage 
leaned  forward  and  bowed  to  Helen,  and  then  cast  a 
second,  longer  glance  at  her  companion. 

"  She's  wanting  to  know  who  that  man  is  you're  talking 
to,"  Hussey  remarked  ironically.  "No,  them  trees  and 
the  country  in  general  ain't  the  same  to  me  and  you. 
You  folks  squat  right  out  here  and  buy  up  all  the  land 
you  can  lay  your  hands  on,  at  least  all  that  can  be  got  at 
easily  from  the  city.  Perhaps,  though,  some  day  it  will 
be  different,  and  the  beautiful  parts  of  the  country  will  be 
kept  for  all  to  have." 

They  began  to  cross  the  bridge,  and  Helen  holding  the 
man  in  talk  wiled  him  as  far  as  her  own  gate,  with  an 
unreasoning  determination  to  make  him  come  into  her 
house. 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  take  that  bundle  there,"  Hussey 
observed  as  they  walked,  pointing  to  the  parcel  that 
Helen  held  in  her  hand. 

"  It's  nothing." 


THE   COMMON   LOT  213 

"  I  notice  that  don't  make  any  difference  among  your 
kind.  Your  men  folks  may  let  their  women  suffer  in 
other  ways,  but  they  fetch  and  carry  for  you  in  public." 

"  Yes  —  that's  so,"  Helen  laughed. 

"That  bundle  ain't  nothing  for  you  to  carry.  You 
wouldn't  have  started  out  with  it  if  it  had  been.  It's 
the  same  way  about  giving  a  woman  a  seat  in  a  car.  If 
she  looks  as  if  she  needed  it,  why  a  humane  man  would 
give  her  his  seat  the  same  as  he  would  to  a  tired  man 
But  most  times  the  man  needs  it  more." 

"  You  wouldn't  have  wanted  your  wife  to  stand  ?  " 

"  Well,  she  weren't  never  real  well,  not  after  the  child 
came." 

He  spoke  more  gently,  and  added  without  any  polite 
delicacy,  "There  must  have  been  something  wrong 
happened  then,  for  she  got  up  weak,  and  couldn't  bear 
children  no  more." 

"  You  miss  her ! " 

"Yes,  sometimes,  when  work's  plenty,  and  I  feel 
strong,  and  there's  something  for  her  to  live  for.  Most 
times  I  think  it's  just  as  well  she's  gone.  And  the  child, 
too,"  he  added  softly.  "  You  see  it  ain't  as  it  is  with 
you,  with  a  working-man  and  his  wife.  They  don't  have  so 
much  love  and  notions,  maybe.  That  don't  stand  long  after 
the  first  weeks.  The  man's  got  to  work  and  the  woman, 
too.  If  she's  a  pretty-looking  girl  when  he  marries  her, 
sweet  and  fresh,  them  looks  don't  last  long.  It's  like  any 
thing  you  use  all  the  time.  There's  no  chance  to  lay  it 
by  and  let  it  freshen  up.  Now  you  and  my  wife  were 
about  of  an  age,  I  judge.  But  she  looked  to  be  the 


214  THE   COMMON  LOT 

mother  of  you,  before  she  died.  You  are  as  pretty  as 
you  ever  was  or  more  so,  and  men  would  court  you  to-day 
if  you  were  single.  It  wasn't  so  with  my  woman,  and  I 
did  the  best  I  could  for  her,  too.  Don't  you  suppose 
a  working-man  hates  to  see  his  wife  grow  old,  through 
hard  work  and  no  chance  to  freshen  up  ?  He  mayn't 
be  as  nice  in  his  tastes  as  your  sort,  but  he  don't  like  to 
see  his  wife  wear  out." 

Romantic  love,  so  he  seemed  to  hold,  was  one  of  the 
luxuries  of  the  expensive  classes.  While  he  was  talking 
they  passed  into  the  driveway  and  came  to  the  house. 
Hussey  finally  got  to  the  veranda,  where  he  sat  stiffly  on 
the  edge  of  a  large  steamer  chair,  holding  his  derby  hat 
in  his  two  hands.  After  a  time  he  deposited  the  hat 
on  the  floor  and  gradually  slipped  into  the  comfortable 
depths  of  the  chair  and  talked  on  more  freely. 

There  was  nothing  new  or  wise  in  the  bookbinder's  talk. 
Yet  certain  things  that  he  said,  furtive,  flame-like  words 
of  revolt  which  contained  half  truths,  sank  into  Helen's 
receptive  mind :  "  Man  pays  pretty  high  for  his  civili 
zation,  as  he  calls  it,  and  what  does  he  get  for  it? 
The  police  station  and  the  fire  department."  "  The 
Bible  says  that  man  must  be  fcorn  again.  Yes  —  that's 
so !  With  a  new  kind  of  belly  iftiat  knows  when  it's  had 
enough."  "  The  labor  question  always  comes  down  to  cut 
ting  the  pie :  because  a  man  with  one  kind  of  a  brain  can 
think  faster  than  his  neighbor,  ought  he  to  get  a  bigger 
slice  ?  Does  he  need  it  to  make  him  think  ?  " 

There  was  a  vein  of  character  in  the  man  himself,  a 
passionate  faith  in  a  vision  of  society  other  than  that 


THE  COMMON  LOT  215 

which  holds  to-day.  His  talk  was  not  vindictive,  or 
greedy,  or  envious,  but  he  assumed  calmly  that  the  pres 
ent  state  of  society  was  wasteful  and  unjust,  and  that 
already,  here  and  there,  men  and  women  were  beginning 
to  wake  from  the  individualistic  nightmare  and  were 
ready  to  try  an  altogether  new  manner  of  living  to 
gether. 

"  I  get  tired,"  he  said  in  answer  to  a  platitude  that 
Helen  made,  "  hearing  what  some  folks  are  kind 
enough  to  do  for  society  —  how  necessary  they  are  to 
make  it  run.  Don't  you  believe  it,  not  for  one  second ! 
If  we  could  take  account  of  stock  in  some  way,  and  find 
out  just  what  mere  brains  are  good  for  and  how  much 
they  do  in  gettin'  food  and  clothes  and  shelter,  I  guess 
we'd  put  brains  lower  down.  And  what's  more,  if  the 
only  way  you  can  get  the  best  work  out  of  smart  men  is 
to  let  them  hog  it,  then  human  nature  must  be  a  pretty 
poor  sort  of  outfit,  and  we'd  better  all  starve.  But  the 
best  workmen  I've  known  didn't  work  because  they  had 
to :  it  was  in  'em  from  the  beginning  of  time  to  work 
better  than  the  others." 

The  boys  came  home  presently  from  a  children's  party 
at  a  neighbor's.  They  were  dressed  very  prettily  in 
white,  with  large  collars  of  absurd  shape  and  size.  They 
wore  neat  little  leather  yachting  caps  with  the  names  of 
men-of-war  gaudily  embossed  in  gold  cord  about  the  rims. 

"  They're  healthy-looking  chaps,"  Hussey  observed  as 
each  one  politely  gave  him  a  hand.  "  That's  what  rich 
folks  can  do  for  their  children,  if  they've  got  good  blood 
in  Jem  to  start  with.  You  can  buy  them  the  proper 


216  THE   COMMON   LOT 

food  and  put  them  in  cool,  big  rooms,  and  plant  'em  out 
here  in  the  country." 

"  Yes,  I  am  on  a  committee  of  women  that  has  charge 
of  a  country  home,"  Helen  answered  idly. 

"  Charity  ? "  He  pronounced  the  word  ironically. 
"  Well,  I  must  be  starting.  It  will  be  dark  before  I  get 
halfway  to  the  city." 

He  rose  and  took  a  long  look  at  the  blue  lake. 

"  This'll  have  to  last  me  some  time.  It's  been  mighty 
pleasant  sitting  here  on  your  piazza  and  jawing  away 
about  these  big  things,  Mrs.  Hart." 

"  You'd  better  come  again,  then." 

"Well,  maybe  I'll  be  riding  out  this  way  sometime. 
But  you  remember  what  I  said  about  mixing!  You  stick 
to  your  side  of  the  fence,  and  I'll  try  to  stick  to  mine." 

"  Suppose  I'm  not  altogether  content  with  my  side  ?  " 

"I  guess  you'll  have  to  grin  and  bear  it.  I  don't 
reckon  to  spend  much  time  pitying  you.  It  looks  to 
me  rather  pretty  on  your  side." 

As  they  were  shaking  hands,  the  chug  of  an  automobile 
could  be  heard  in  the  roadway. 

"  That  must  be  my  husband ! "  Helen  exclaimed. 
"  Won't  you  wait  a  minute  and  see  him  ?  " 

The  heavy,  lumbering  machine  with  its  ugly  fat  wheels 
rolled  up  the  driveway,  and  after  a  final  heave  and 
sigh  came  to  a  stand  before  the  veranda.  The  driver 
leaped  down  and  opened  the  little  door  in  the  rear  for  his 
master  to  descend.  The  architect  was  smoking  a  cigar 
and  carried  in  his  arms  a  heavy  bag  of  papers  and 
books. 


THE   COMMON  LOT  217 

"  Hello,  Nell ! "  lie  called  cheerily,  and  then  looked 
inquiringly  at  the  man  beside  her. 

"Francis,  this  is  Mr.  Hussey.  You  remember  Mr. 
Hussey  who  gave  us  lessons  in  bookbinding  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  The  architect  greeted  Hussey  with 
a  pleasant  nod.  "  Very  glad  to  see  you  again." 

He  held  out  his  free  hand  in  the  simple,  cordial  fash 
ion  that  made  him  popular  in  his  office  and  with  the  fore 
men  on  his  buildings.  He  always  made  a  point  of  being 
genial  with  working  people.  He  got  more  out  of  them 
that  way  and  often  avoided  friction.  He  usually  carried 
about  with  him  a  handful  of  black  and  strong  cigars, 
which  he  dealt  out  on  the  slightest  occasion. 

"  Sit  down  again,  won't  you  ?  "  he  remarked.  "  Have 
a  cigar  ?  " 

He  pulled  out  one  of  the  proper  variety  from  his  inner 
pocket. 

"  I  don't  smoke,"  the  bookbinder  replied  shortly. 

He  made  no  further  remark,  and  the  architect,  also, 
found  himself  at  the  end  of  his  cordiality.  Helen  real 
ized  that  the  two  men  had  nothing  whatsoever  to  talk 
about.  Jackson  could  have  discussed  bindings  in  a  dilet 
tante  fashion,  meaning  certain  rich  and  costly  specimens 
of  the  art  that  wealthy  amateurs  bought  and  locked  up 
in  cabinets,  but  he  knew  nothing  about  the  ordinary 
trade. 

"Mr.  Hussey  rode  out  from  the  city  on  a  bicycle," 
Helen  explained.  "I  met  him  on  the  bridge  and  induced 
him  to  come  up  here  and  rest  for  a  little  while." 

"Yes,  it's  hot,"  Jackson  answered.     "Fearfully  hot  on 


218  THE   COMMON   LOT 

the  train  from  Indianapolis  this  morning.  I  haven't  been 
cool  all  day  until  Fred  let  out  the  machine  coming  over 
from  the  station." 

Hussey  looked  at  the  lumbering  automobile  sighing  to 
itself  below  the  veranda,  and  then  at  the  chauffeur,  who 
was  waiting  for  orders. 

"  Good  day,"  he  said  abruptly.  "  It's  some  longer  to 
the  city  on  a  wheel  than  in  one  of  them  affairs." 

Helen  walked  down  the  steps  with  her  guest  in  a  vague 
desire  to  be  cordial.  He  mounted  his  wheel,  and  bending 
his  little  body  over  the  frame,  pedalled  swiftly  out  of  the 
driveway.  Helen  watched  him  for  a  moment,  feeling 
that  he  would  not  call  again,  as  she  hoped  he  might.  He 
had  merely  wandered  their  way  this  bright  summer  day 
like  a  chance  stranger  from  some  vast  outer  world,  —  a 
world  that  perpetually  teased  her  spirit. 

"  What  is  he,  Nell  ?  Socialist  or  anarchist  ?  "  Jackson 
called  out  good-humoredly,  when  his  wife  returned  to  the 
veranda. 

It  was  one  of  his  jokes  that  his  wife  dabbled  in  social 
ism. 

"  I  wish  he  would  have  stayed  to  dinner." 

"  But  we're  going  out." 

"  Yes,  I  know.     But  he  wouldn't  have  stayed  anyway." 

Her  husband  looked  at  her  inquiringly,  yet  he  was  not 
sufficiently  interested  in  Mr.  Hussey  to  frame  a  question. 
He  poured  himself  a  glass  of  water,  drank  it,  and  when 
he  set  the  glass  down,  the  bookbinder  had  been  washed 
into  complete  oblivion. 

"  Come !    It  must  be  time  to  dress,"  he  said  briskly. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THJT  Harts  were  to  dine  at  the  Elisha  Stewarts'  that 
evening,  and  the  architect  had  considered  this  engagement 
of  sufficient  importance  to  bring  him  back  to  Chicago  all 
the  way  from  Indianapolis.  Elisha  Stewart  had  made  his 
money  many  years  ago,  when  he  commanded  a  vessel  on 
the  lakes,  by  getting  control  of  valuable  ore  properties. 
The  Elisha  Stewarts  had  lived  in  Shoreham  for  nearly  a 
generation,  and  were  much  considered,— very  good  peo 
ple,  indeed.  Their  rambling,  old-fashioned  white  house, 
with  a  square  cupola  projecting  from  the  roof,  was  one  of 
the  village  landmarks.  The  place  was  surrounded  by  a 
grove  of  firs  set  out  by  Elisha  himself  when  he  built  the 
house. 

It  was  a  large  dinner,  and  most  of  the  guests,  who 
were  of  the  older  set,  were  already  assembled  in  the 
long  drawing-room  when  Helen  and  Jackson  arrived. 
The  people  in  the  room  were  all  talking  very  earnestly 
about  a  common  topic. 

"It's  the  Crawfords,"  Mrs.  Stewart  murmured  asth- 
matically  into  Helen's  ear.  "You  know  they  find  his 
affairs  in  such  a  frightful  tangle.  They  say  there  won't 
be  much  left." 

"  Indeed  ! "  Jackson  exclaimed  sympathetically. 

"Anthony  wasn't  all  right,  not  fit  for  business  for 
219 


220  THE   COMMON   IJOT 

more  than  a  year  before  he  died,"  Colonel  Raymond  was 
saying  to  the  group.  "  And  he  snarled  things  up  pretty 
well  by  what  I  hear." 

"  That  slide  in  copper  last  March  must  have  squeezed 
him." 

"  Squeezed  ?     I  should  say  it  did." 

"  It  wasn't  only  copper." 

"  No,  no,  it  wasn't  only  copper,"  assented  several  men. 

Among  the  women,  the  more  personal  application  of 
the  fact  was  openly  made. 

"  Poor  old  Anthony  !  It  must  have  troubled  him  to 
know  there  wasn't  one  of  his  family  who  could  look  out 
for  himself.  Morris  was  a  pleasant  fellow,  but  after  he 
got  out  of  Harvard  he  never  seemed  to  do  much.  It  will 
come  hard  on  Linda." 

"  What  has  the  youngest  boy  been  up  to  lately  ?  " 

"  The  same  thing,  I  guess." 

"  I  heard  he'd  been  doing  better  since  he  went  on  the 
ranch." 

"  He  couldn't  get  into  much  trouble  out  there." 

"  Isn't  there  anything  left  ?  " 

"Oh,  the  widow  will  have  a  little.  But  the  in-laws 
will  have  to  hunt  jobs.  One  is  out  in  California, 
isn't  he  ?  " 

The  company  did  not  seem  able  to  get  away  from  the 
topic.  Even  after  they  went  out  to  dinner,  it  echoed 
to  and  fro  around  the  table. 

"  I  say  it's  a  shame,  a  crime ! "  Mr.  Buchanan  pro 
nounced  with  confident  earnestness.  "  A  man  with  that 
sort  of  family  has  no  right  to  engage  in  speculative 


THE  COMMON  LOT  221 

enterprises  without  settling  a  proper  sum  on  his  family 
first.  There's  his  eldest  daughter  married  to  an  invalid, 
his  youngest  daughter  engaged  to  be  married  to  a  parson, 
and  neither  of  his  sons  showing  any  business  ability." 

"That's  a  fact,  Oliver,"  Mr.  Stewart  nodded.  "But 
you  know  Anthony  always  loved  deep  water." 

"  And  now  it's  his  family  who  have  got  to  swim  in  it." 

"  He  was  a  most  generous  man,"  Pemberton  remarked 
in  a  milder  tone.  "  I  hardly  know  of  a  man  who's  done 
more  first  and  last  for  this  town,  and  no  one  ever  had  to 
ask  twice  for  his  help  in  any  public  enterprise." 

"Seems  to  have  looked  after  other  people's  affairs 
better'n  his  own.  It's  a  pity  now  the  boys  weren't 
brought  up  to  business." 

"  That  isn't  the  way  nowadays.  He  was  always  ready 
for  a  gamble,  and  she  didn't  want  her  sons  in  the  business." 

From  time  to  time  there  were  feeble  efforts  to  move 
the  talk  out  of  the  rut  in  which  it  had  become  fixed. 
But  the  minds  of  most  of  those  about  the  table 
were  fascinated  by  the  spectacle  of  ruin  so  closely  pre 
sented  to  them.  The  picture  of  a  solid,  worldly  estate 
crumbling  before  their  eyes  stirred  their  deepest  emo 
tions.  For  the  moment  it  crowded  out  that  other  great 
topic  of  the  new  strike  in  the  building  trades.  Every  one 
at  the  table  held  substantially  the  same  views  on  both 
these  matters,  but  the  ruin  of  the  Crawford  fortune  was 
more  immediately  dramatic  than  the  evils  of  unionism. 
'  "  When  are  you  fellows  going  to  start  that  school, 
Pemberton  ?  "  some  one  asked  at  last. 

"  Not  until  these  strikes  let  up,  and  there's  no  telling 


222  THE  COMMON   LOT 

when  that  will  be.  If  these  labor  unions  only  keep  on 
Jong  enough,  they  will  succeed  in  killing  every  sort  of 
enterprise." 

"  Yes,  they're  ruining  business." 

Then  Pemberton,  who  was  seated  next  to  Helen, 
remarked  to  her:  — 

"You  will  be  glad  to  know,  Mrs.  Hart,  that  the 
trustees  have  decided  not  to  hand  the  work  over  to  any 
institution,  at  least  for  the  present." 

"  I  am  so  glad  of  that,"  she  replied. 

"  That's  about  as  far  as  we  have  got." 

Sensitively  alive  to  her  former  blunder  in  expressing 
her  wish  that  her  husband  might  draw  the  plans  for  the 
school,  she  took  this  as  a  hint,  and  dropped  the  subject 
altogether,  although  she  had  a  dozen  questions  on  the  tip 
of  her  tongue. 

She  noticed  that  Jackson,  who  was  seated  between 
Mrs.  Stewart  and  Mrs.  Phillips,  was  drinking  a  good 
deal  of  champagne.  She  thought  that  he  was  finding 
the  dinner  as  intolerably  dull  as  she  found  it,  for  he 
rarely  drank  champagne.  When  the  women  gathered 
in  the  drawing-room  for  coffee,  the  topic  of  the  Craw- 
fords'  disaster  had  reached  the  anecdotal  stage. 

"  Poor  Linda !  Do  you  remember  how  she  hated 
Chicago  ?  She's  been  living  at  Cannes  this  season, 
hasn't  she  ?  I  suppose  she'll  come  straight  home  now. 
Does  she  own  that  place  in  the  Berkshires  ?  " 

"  No,  everything  was  in  his  name." 

"  He  was  one  of  the  kind  who  would  keep  everything 
in  his  own  hands." 


THE  COMMON   LOT  223 

"  Even  that  ranch  doesn't  belong  to  Ted,  I  hear." 

"  My,  what  a  tragedy  it  is ! " 

There  seemed  to  be  no  end  to  the  talk  about  the  lost 
money.  Helen  sat  limply  in  her  chair.  The  leaden 
dulness  of  the  dinner-talk,  the  dead  propriety  and  con 
ventionality  of  the  service,  the  dishes,  the  guests,  had 
never  before  so  whelmed  her  spirit  as  they  did  to-night. 
These  good  people  were  stung  into  unusual  animation 
because  a  man  had  died  leaving  his  family  not  poor, 
but  within  sight  of  poverty.  For  poverty  is  the  deadliest 
spectre  to  haunt  the  merchant  class  at  their  lying  down 
and  at  their  uprising. 

When  the  men  came  in,  murmuring  among  themselves 
fragments  of  the  same  topic,  Helen  felt  as  though  she 
might  shriek  out  or  laugh  hysterically,  and  as  soon  as  she 
could  she  clutched  her  husband,  just  as  he  was  sitting 
down  beside  Mrs.  Pemberton. 

"  Take  me  away,  Francis.     It's  awful,"  she  whispered. 

"  What's  the  matter  ? "  he  asked  in  quick  concern. 
"  Don't  you  feel  well  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  am  all  right.  No,  I  am  tired.  My  head 
aches.  Can't  we  leave?  I  shall  do  something  silly  — 
come ! " 

As  they  got  into  their  carriage,  he  demanded,  "  What 
was  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  —  just  the  awful  dulness  of  it, — such  people, 
— such  talk,  talk,  talk  about  poor  Mr.  Crawford's  money ! " 
-  "I  thought  the  crowd  was  all  right,"  he  grumbled. 
"  The  best  out  here  —  what  was  the  matter  ?  Your 
nerves  must  be  wrong." 


224  THE   COMMON    LOT 

"  Yes,  my  nerves  are  wrong,"  she  assented. 

Then  they  were  silent,  and  from  the  heat,  fatigue,  and 
champagne  he  relapsed  into  a  doze  on  the  way  home. 
But  when  they  reached  the  house  he  woke  up  briskly 
enough  and  began  to  talk  of  the  dinner  again:  — 

"  Nell,  Mrs.  Phillips  was  speaking  to  me  to-night  about 
Venetia.  She's  worried  to  death  over  the  girl.  The  men 
say  pretty  rough  things  about  her,  you  know.  Little  fool ! 
She'd  better  marry  Lane  if  he  wants  her  still,  and  keep 
quiet." 

"Like  mother,  like  daughter,"  Helen  replied  dryly. 
"And  of  the  two  I  prefer  the  daughter." 

"  What  makes  you  say  that  ?  Louise  is  all  right ;  just 
likes  to  have  her  hand  squeezed  now  and  then." 

"  Phew  ! "  Helen  exclaimed  impatiently. 

There  was  something  so  short  and  hard  in  his  wife's 
voice  that  Jackson  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  They  went 
to  their  dressing-room  ;  now  that  he  had  got  his  eyes  open 
once  more  he  made  no  haste  to  go  to  bed.  There  was  some 
thing  he  wanted  to  say  to  his  wife  which  needed  delicate 
phrasing.  He  lit  a  cigarette  and  leaned  back  against  the 
open  window,  through  which  the  night  air  was  drawing 
gently.  After  a  little  time  he  remarked :  — 

"  The  judge  was  talking  some  about  the  school.  They 
are  getting  ready  to  build  as  soon  as  the  strikes  are 
settled.  Has  Everett  said  anything  to  you  about  it  ?  " 

"  Not  lately.  I  haven't  seen  him  since  we  were  at  the 
Buchanans'.  Why  ?  " 

"  Why  !  I  am  counting  on  Everett,  and  the  last  time 
I  saw  him  he  seemed  to  me  to  be  side-stepping.  I've 


THE   COMMON   LOT  225 

seen  Pemberton  once  or  twice,  but  he  always  avoids  the 
subject.  I  asked  him  point-blank  to-night  what  their 
plans  were,  and  he  said  the  papers  had  everything  that 
had  been  settled.  He's  a  stiff  one !  I  saw  you  were  talk 
ing  to  him.  Did  he  say  anything  about  the  school  ?  " 

Helen,  who  had  been  moving  about  the  room  here  and 
there,  preparing  to  undress,  suddenly  stood  quite  still. 
The  memory  of  her  remark  to  Pemberton  that  morning  on 
the  train  swept  over  her  again,  coloring  her  cheeks.  She 
answered  the  question  after  a  moment  of  hesitation :  — 

"  Yes,  he  spoke  about  their  not  giving  the  money  to 
the  university,  but  that  was  all.  And  I  didn't  like  to 
ask  questions." 

"  Oh  !  "  Jackson  murmured  in  a  disappointed  tone. 
"  You  might  have  drawn  him  out.  He's  likely  to  have 
a  good  deal  to  say  about  what  is  done.  The  judge  is  down 
on  me,  never  liked  me  since  I  built  for  Louise  —  thinks 
I  stuck  her,  I  suppose.  Wasn't  his  money,  though. 
Hollister  is  on  the  fence ;  he'll  do  what  Everett  tells  him. 
It  rests  with  Pemberton,  mostly." 

Helen  turned  toward  where  he  was  standing  and  asked 
swiftly,  "  Why  do  you  want  them  to  give  it  to  you  so 
much  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  "  The  architect  opened  his  mouth  in  aston 
ishment.  "  Don't  you  know  the  size  of  the  thing  ? 
They're  going  to  spend  a  million  or  more  on  the  school, 
put  up  one  large  building  or  several  smaller  ones.  It's 
•a  chance  that  doesn't  come  every  week  to  do  a  great 
public  building." 

She  had  begun  to  unhook  her  dress,  and  her  nervous 

Q 


226  THE  COMMON   LOT 

fingers  tangled  the  lace  about  the  hooks.  Jackson,  see 
ing  her  predicament,  put  down  his  cigarette  and  stepped 
forward  to  help  her.  But  she  swerved  away  from  him 
unconsciously,  tugging  at  the  lace  until  it  broke  loose 
from  the  hook. 

"  Francis ! "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  kind  of  solemnity. 
"  You  would  not  do  it  for  money,  just  like  any  ordinary 
building  ?  " 

"And  why  not?"  he  asked,  puzzled.  "Am  I  draw* 
ing  plans  for  fun  these  days  ?  I'll  tell  you  what,  Nell, 
I  need  the  money,  and  I  need  it  badly.  Something 
must  turn  up,  and  right  away.  Since  the  strikes  began 
there  hasn't  been  much  new  business  coming  into  the 
office,  of  course,  and  it  costs  us  a  lot  to  live  as  we  do. 
That's  plain  enough." 

"  We  can  live  differently.  I've  often  thought  it  would 
be  better  if  we  did,  too." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  live  differently.  That's 
nonsense ! " 

They  were  silent  for  a  little  while  before  their 
unfinished  thoughts.  He  broke  the  silence  first :  — 

"Perhaps  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  I've  been  caught 
in  an — investment,  some  stocks  I  bought.  A  friend 
of  mine  advised  me,  a  broker  who  is  in  with  Rainbow. 
But  the  thing  went  wrong.  I  don't  believe  those  fellows 
know  as  much  as  the  man  outside.  Well,  instead  of 
making  a  good  thing  by  it,  I  must  find  ten  or  twelve 
thousand  dollars,  and  find  it  mighty  quick.  Now  if  I 
get  this  commission,  I  can  borrow  the  money  all  right. 
I  know  who  will  let  me  have  it.  And  then  by  the  end 


THE  COMMON  LOT  227 

of  the  year  it  will  straighten  out.  And  the  next  time  I 
go  to  buy  stocks,  well  —  " 

"But  that  building  —  the  school  ?"  Helen  interrupted. 
She  pulled  a  thin  dressing-sack  over  her  shoulders 
and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  looking  breath 
lessly  into  his  face.  What  he  had  said  about  his  losses 
in  the  stock  market  had  made  no  impression  on  her. 
"That  work  is  uncle  Powers's  gift,  his  legacy  to  the 
people.  You  can't  do  it  just  to  make  money  out  of  it ! " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  demanded  shortly,  and  then  added, 
with  a  dry  little  laugh:  "I  should  say  that  building 
rather  than  any  other.  I'd  like  to  pick  up  a  few 
crumbs  from  the  old  man's  cake.  It's  only  common 
justice,  seeing  he  did  me  out  of  all  the  rest." 

She  stared  at  him  with  bewildered  eyes.  Perhaps 
she  was  not  a  very  quick  woman,  if  after  five  years  of 
daily  contact  with  her  husband  she  did  not  know  his 
nature.  But  the  conceptions  she  had  cherished  of  him 
were  too  deep  to  be  effaced  at  once.  She  could  not  even 
yet  understand  what  he  meant. 

"'Did  you  out  of  all  the  rest'?"  she  queried  in  a 
low  voice. 

"Yes!"  he  exclaimed  hardily.  "And  I  think  the 
trustees  should  take  it  into  consideration  that  I  didn't 
contest  the  will  when  I  had  the  best  kind  of  case  and 
could  have  given  them  no  end  of  trouble.  I  was  a  fool 
to  knuckle  under  so  quickly.  I  might  at  least  have  had 
an  agreement  with  them  about  this  matter." 

"  So,"  she  said,  "  you  want  to  build  the  school  to  make 
up  what  you  think  uncle  should  have  given  you  ?  " 


228  THE   COMMON   LOT 

"You  needn't  put  it  just  like  that.  But  I  need  every 
cent  I  can  make.  The  bigger  the  building,  the  better 
for  me.  And  I  can  do  it  as  well  for  them  as  anybody. 
They're  probably  thinking  of  having  a  competition,  and 
asking  in  a  lot  of  fellows  from  New  York  and  Boston. 
They  ought  to  keep  it  in  this  city,  anyway,  and  then  the 
only  man  I'd  hate  to  run  up  against  would  be  Wright. 
He's  got  some  mighty  clever  new  men  in  his  office." 

He  talked  on  as  he  stripped  off  his  coat  and  waistcoat 
and  hung  them  neatly  on  the  clothes-tree,  permitting  her 
to  see  all  the  consideration  he  had  given  to  his  chances 
for  securing  this  big  commission.  Evidently  he  had 
been  turning  it  over  and  over  in  his  mind,  and  he  was 
desperately  nervous  lest  he  might  lose  what  he  had 
counted  on  having  all  along  ever  since  his  marriage. 
He  refrained  from  telling  his  wife  that  he  felt  she 
had  seconded  him  feebly  in  this  matter ;  for  she  knew 
the  judge,  and  Pemberton,  and  Everett,  too,  a  great 
deal  better  than  he  did.  They  had  always  paid  her 
rather  marked  attention. 

Helen  said  nothing.  There  was  nothing  in  her  sur 
prised  and  grieved  heart  to  be  said.  For  the  first  time 
she  saw  clearly  what  manner  of  man  her  husband  was. 
She  knew  how  he  felt  about  his  uncle.  He  was  vindictive 
about  him,  and  seemed  to  welcome  this  job  as  a  chance 
to  get  even  with  the  old  man  for  slighting  him  in  his 
will.  Eor  some  reason  unknown  to  her  he  had  not  tried 
at  the  time  of  his  death  to  break  his  will  and  show  his 
ingratitude,  and  now  he  regretted  that  he  had  displayed 
so  much  forbearance. 


THE   COMMON  LOT  229 

This  sudden  sight  of  the  nakedness  of  the  man  she 
loved  dulled  her  heart  so  that  she  could  not  view  the 
thing  simply.  It  was  impossible  for  her  to  see  that  there 
was  nothing  very  dreadful  in  her  husband's  attitude, 
nothing  more  than  a  little  ordinary  human  selfishness, 
sharpened  by  that  admirable  system  of  civilized  self- 
interest  which  our  philosophers  and  statesmen  so  delight 
to  praise.  She  had  been  dreaming  that  her  husband 
might  have  the  honor  to  design  this  great  building 
as  a  testimonial,  a  monument  of  gratitude,  to  the  man 
who  had  succored  his  youth,  who  had  given  him  his  edu 
cation  !  Her  sentiment  turned  rancid  in  her  heart. 

"  Now  if  Everett  or  the  judge  should  say  anything  to 
you,  give  you  a  chance,  you  know  what  it  means  to  me," 
Jackson  remarked  finally,  as  he  put  his  boots  outside  the 
door  for  the  man  to  get  in  the  morning.  He  had  meant 
to  say  more  than  this,  to  point  out  to  her  in  detail  the 
service  she  could  do  them  both.  Something  in  her  man 
ner,  however,  restrained  him,  and  he  contented  himself 
with  this  final  hint. 

But  Helen  had  stepped  back  into  the  dressing-room 
and  did  not  hear  him.  When  she  returned  her  husband 
was  already  in  bed,  and  his  eyelids  were  closed  in  sleep. 
She  placed  herself  beside  him  and  turned  out  the  light. 

She  lay  there  a  long,  long  time,  her  open  eyes  staring 
upward  into  the  darkness,  her  arms  stretched  straight 
beside  her,  as  she  used  to  lie  when  she  was  a  little  child, 
and  her  nurse  had  told  her  to  be  good  and  not  to  stir. 
Something  strange  had  happened  that  day,  something 
impalpable,  unnamable,  yet  true,  and  of  enormous  impor- 


230  THE  COMMON  LOT 

tance  to  the  woman.  The  man  who  lay  there  beside  her, 
her  husband,  the  indivisible  part  of  her,  had  been  suddenly 
cut  from  her  soul,  and  was  once  more  his  own  flesh — • 
some  alien  piece  of  clay,  and  ever  so  to  be. 

She  did  not  cry  or  moan.  She  was  too  much  stunned. 
All  the  little  petty  manifestations  of  character,  unobserved 
through  those  five  years  of  marriage,  were  suddenly 
numbered  and  revealed  to  her.  It  was  not  a  question  of 
blame.  They  declared  themselves  to  her  as  finalities, 
just  as  if  she  had  suddenly  discovered  that  her  husband 
had  four  toes  instead  of  five.  He  was  of  his  kind,  and 
she  was  of  her  kind.  Being  what  she  was,  she  could  no 
longer  worship  him,  being  what  he  was.  And  her  nature 
craved  the  privilege  of  worship.  That  thin,  colorless 
protestantism  of  her  fathers  had  faded  into  a  nameless 
moralism.  She  had  no  Christ  before  whom  she  could 
pour  her  adoration  and  love.  Instead,  she  had  taken  to 
herself  a  man ;  and  now  the  clay  of  his  being  was  crum 
bling  in  her  hands.  .  .  . 

Outside  the  room  the  lake  began  to  clamor  on  the  sands 
beneath  the  bluff.  It  called  her  by  its  insistent  moan. 
She  rose  from  the  bed  and  stepped  out  upon  the  little 
balcony  that  looked  eastward  from  their  room.  The 
warm  night  was  filled  with  a  damp  mist  that  swathed  the 
tree  trunks  to  their  branches  and  covered  the  slow-mov 
ing  waves  of  the  lake.  Through  this  earth  fog  there  was 
moving  a  current  from  some  distant  point,  touching  the 
sleeping  town. 

All  the  unquiet  feelings  that  latterly  had  been  rising 
in  her  soul  —  Venetia's  bold  challenge,  Hussey 's  harsh 


THE   COMMON   LOT 

words,  her  own  dissatisfaction  with  the  empty  life  of 
getting  and  spending  —  now  hardened  into  judgment. 
The  poor  bookbinder  was  right :  it  was  useless,  perhaps, 
to  mix  the  two  orders  of  life,  —  those  that  labor  for 
mere  living  and  those  that  labor  for  luxury.  But  here 
in  the  superb  indifference  of  nature  she  knew  herself  to 
be  kin  with  him,  the  man  of  the  people,  the  common 
man,  whose  lot  it  was  to  labor  for  his  scanty  bread. 
Surely  a  new  order  of  the  world  was  to  be  born,  wherein 
the  glory  of  life  should  not  be  for  the  ferocious  self- 
seekers,  wherein  all  that  was  fine  in  man  should  not 
be  tainted  with  greed ! 

She  held  her  arms  out  to  the  mist,  vaguely,  blindly, 
demanding  some  compensation  for  living,  some  justifica 
tion  that  she  knew  not  of.  And  there  in  the  vigil  of  the 
misty  night  the  woman  was  born.  From  a  soft,  yield 
ing,  dreaming,  feminine  thing,  there  was  born  a  new 
soul — definite,  hard,  and  precise  in  its  judgment  of 
men  and  life.  .  .  . 

In  the  house  behind  her  slept  her  husband  and  her  two 
boys,  —  her  children  and  his.  But  only  in  the  words 
of  the  sentimentalists  are  children  a  sufficient  joy  to 
woman's  heart.  Loving  as  she  was  by  nature,  neverthe 
less  she  asked  more  of  God  than  her  two  boys,  whose 
little  lives  no  longer  clung  to  hers  by  the  bonds  of 
extreme  infancy.  They  were  growing  to  become  men ; 
they,  too,  like  her  husband,  would  descend  into  the 
market  for  the  game  which  all  men  play.  The  fear 
of  it  gripped  her  heart. 

And  at  last  she  wept,  miserably,  for  the  forlorn  wreck 


232  THE   COMMON   LOT 

of  her  worship,  longing  for  the  glorious  man  she  had 
once  adored. 

The  next  morning  she  said  to  her  husband :  — 
"Francis,  I  want  to  go  back  to  the  city  this  winter." 
"  Well  —  there's  time  to  think  of  it  —  you  may  change 

your  mind  by  the  fall." 

She  said  no  more,  but  the  first  step  in  her  new  life 

had  been  taken. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

EVERETT  WHEELER  could  hardly  be  reckoned  as  a  man 
of  sentiment.  Yet  in  the  matter  of  selecting  an  architect 
for  the  new  school  he  stood  out  persistently  against  the 
wishes  of  Pemberton  and  Judge  Phillips,  with  but  one 
sentimental  argument,  —  the  Powers  Jackson  trustees 
must  give  the  commission  for  building  the  great  school 
to  the  nephew  of  the  founder,  without  holding  a  com 
petitive  trial  of  any  sort. 

"It's  only  square,"  he  insisted.  "Jackson  was  dis 
appointed  about  the  will.  He  had  some  grounds  for 
feeling  badly  used,  too.  He  might  have  made  us  a  good 
deal  of  trouble  at  the  time,  and  he  didn't." 

"  Powers  would  think  it  queer  to  pass  him  by," 
Hollister  urged  also,  "  seeing  he  gave  the  boy  a  first-class 
education  to  be  an  architect.  And  he's  a  hustling, 
progressive  fellow  from  all  I  hear.  I  must  say  I  admire 
the  way  he's  settled  into  the  collar  since  his  uncle 
died.  Why  shouldn't  we  give  him  this  boost?" 

These  remarks  were  made  at  one  of  the  many  informal 
meetings  of  the  trustees,  which  were  held  almost  daily 
now  that  the  plans  for  the  school  were  shaping  them 
selves  toward  action.  Pemberton,  with  whom  the  others 
happened  to  be  taking  their  luncheon,  glanced  sharply  at 

233 


234  THE  COMMON  LOT 

Wheeler.  Although  not  given  to  suspecting  his  neigh 
bors  of  indirect  motives,  Pemberton  understood  Wheeler 
well  enough  to  know  that  when  the  lawyer  fell  back 
upon  sentiment  there  must  be  another  motive  in 
the  background.  The  close  relationship  between  the 
men  was  not  sufficient  to  account  wholly  for  the 
cold  lawyer's  unexpected  zeal  in  behalf  of  the  young 
architect.  Everett  Wheeler  was  not  one  to  be  moved 
by  family  ties.  Pemberton  had  not  forgotten  Mrs. 
Hart's  sudden  interest  in  this  commission,  which  he  had 
attributed  to  an  unwise  eagerness  for  her  husband's 
profit.  It  occurred  to  him  now  that  he  had  once  heard 
in  past  years  of  Everett  Wheeler's  devotion  to  Nellie 
Spellman. 

"I  can't  see  that  it  follows  that  we  should  put  this 
plum  into  his  mouth,"  the  judge  remarked  testily. 
"If  Powers  had  wanted  to  give  the  chap  any  more 
money,  he  would  have  left  it  to  him.  You  must  excuse 
me,  Everett,  for  speaking  my  mind  about  your  cousin; 
but,  frankly,  I  don't  altogether  like  the  fellow.  He's 
too  smooth,  too  easy  with  all  the  world." 

"  That's  all  right,  judge.  I'm  not  urging  him  because 
he's  my  cousin.  But  we  know  why  you  are  down  on 
him,"  Wheeler  answered,  with  a  smile.  "He  did  let 
your  sister-in-law  in  for  a  good  deal." 

"  Well,  it  isn't  just  that.  Of  course  he  was  beginning 
then,  and  wanted  to  make  his  first  job  as  big  as  possible 
—  that's  natural  enough.  And  I  guess  Louise  —  Well, 
it's  her  affair.  She  manages  her  own  property,  and  I 
wouldn't  let  her  spend  any  of  the  children's  money. 


THE  COMMON  LOT  235 

But  I  don't  like  Hart's  methods.  Kaymond  was  telling 
me  the  other  day  how  he  worked  him  for  that  railroad 
job  —  through  —  through  a  woman.  I  suppose  it's  all 
right;  the  man  must  get  business  where  he  can.  It's 
hard  for  youngsters  to  make  a  living  these  days.  But  to 
get  a  woman  to  pull  off  a  thing  like  that  for  you !  And 
Raymond  told  me  they  had  to  drop  him,  too  —  he  didn't 
do  the  work  economically,  or  something  of  the  sort." 

"I  guess  there's  another  story  to  that,  perhaps," 
Wheeler  answered  patiently.  "Jack  wasn't  willing  to 
let  Bushfield  make  all  he  wanted  to  off  the  contracts. 
I  happen  to  know  that.  And  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  have  it  in  for  him  because  he  got  a  lady  to  say 
a  good  word  for  him  with  Raymond.  You  know  well 
enough  that  pretty  nearly  all  the  big  commissions  for 
public  buildings  in  this  city  have  gone  by  favor,  —  family 
or  social  or  political  pull.  It's  got  to  be  so.  You're 
bound  to  think  that  the  man  you  know  is  bigger  than 
the  other  fellow  you  don't  know." 

"That  is  not  a  good  reason,  Mr.  Wheeler,  why  we 
should  do  the  same  thing  in  this  case,"  Pemberton 
objected  stiffly.  "  It  would  have  been  well  for  American 
architecture  if  it  had  happened  less  often.  The  proper 
way  in  the  case  of  all  public  buildings  is  to  hold  an  open 
competition." 

"Well,  we  won't  argue  that  question.  But  this  is  a 
special  case.  Here  is  a  man  who  happens  to  be  a  nephew 
of  the  founder,  who  knows  more  of  our  plans  than  any 
other  architect,  naturally,  and  can  give  us  pretty  much 
all  his  attention.  He'll  push  the  work  faster." 


236  THE   COMMON   LOT 

"  We  can  wait,"  Pemberton  still  demurred.  "  There 
is  no  need  for  undue  haste." 

"No,  no,  John,"  Judge  Phillips  protested.  "I  am 
getting  to  be  an  old  man.  I  want  to  see  the  school 
started  and  feel  that  my  duty's  done.  We've  thrashed 
this  out  long  enough.  Let  us  try  Hart  and  be  done 
with  it." 

Pemberton  had  been  added  to  their  number  at  the 
suggestion  of  the  judge,  because  of  his  well-known  public 
spirit  and  his  interest  in  educational  and  philanthropic 
enterprises.  He  had  undertaken  his  duties  with  his 
accustomed  energy  and  conscientiousness,  and  at  times 
wearied  even  the  judge  with  his  scruples.  The  others 
had  rather  hazy  ideas  as  to  the  exact  form,  educationally, 
that  the  large  fund  in  their  charge  should  assume. 
Wheeler  concerned  himself  mainly  with  the  financial 
side  of  the  trust.  Hollister,  who  had  got  his  education 
in  a  country  school,  and  Judge  Phillips,  who  was  a  grad 
uate  of  a  small  college,  merely  insisted  that  the  school 
should  be  "  practical,"  with  "  no  nonsense."  After  they 
had  rejected  the  plan  of  handing  over  the  bequest  to  a 
university,  Pemberton  had  formed  the  idea  of  founding 
a  technological  school,  modelled  closely  after  certain 
famous  Eastern  institutions.  This  conception  Helen  had 
somewhat  disturbed  by  her  talk  with  him,  in  which  she 
had  vigorously  presented  the  founder's  democratic  ideas 
on  education.  Her  views  had  set  him  to  thinking  on 
the  problem  once  more,  and  he  had  discussed  the  matter 
with  the  intimate  friends  of  the  founder,  seeking  to  dis 
cover  the  old  man's  real  purpose  in  his  benefaction. 


THE   COMMON   LOT  237 

In  his  perplexity  Pemberton  had  gone  East  to  see 
the  president  of  a  university,  of  which  he  was  one  of  the 
trustees,  and  there  he  had  met  a  professor  in  the  scien 
tific  department,  one  Dr.  Everest,  a  clever  organizer  of 
educational  enterprises.  Dr.  Everest  did  not  find  it  diffi 
cult  to  convince  the  puzzled  trustee  that  his  dilemma 
was  an  imaginary  one,  that  all  warring  ideals  of  educa 
tion  might  be  easily  "harmonized"  by  a  little  judicious 
"  adjustment."  There  should  be  some  domestic  science 
for  the  girls,  manual  training  combined  with  technical 
and  commercial  courses  for  the  boys,  and  all  would  be 
right,  especially  if  the  proper  man  were  employed  to  mix 
these  ingredients.  In  brief,  the  doctor  came  to  Chicago 
at  the  invitation  of  the  trustees,  looked  over  the  ground, 
and  spoke  at  several  public  dinners  on  the  "ideals  of 
modern  education."  His  eloquent  denunciation  of  a 
"  mediaeval "  education,  his  plea  for  a  business  education 
for  a  business  people,  and  especially  his  alert  air  and 
urbane  manners  convinced  the  trustees  that  they  had 
found  a  treasure.  Dr.  Everest  was  invited  to  become 
the  head  of  the  new  school,  which  was  to  be  called  the 
JACKSON  INDUSTRIAL  INSTITUTE. 

Hart  attended  one  of  the  dinners  where  the  new 
director  spoke,  and  afterward  engaged  Dr.  Everest  in 
a  long  conversation  about  the  new  school.  They  found 
themselves  agreed  that  it  ought  to  be  housed  "monu 
mentally,"  whatever  happened.  Later,  Dr.  Everest 
•spoke  warmly  to  Pemberton  of  the  intelligent  young 
architect,  whom  he  understood  might  be  asked  to  design 
the  building.  His  views,  he  said,  were  "progressive" 


238  THE  COMMON   LOT 

and  "inspiring,"  and  Jackson  praised  the  director 
warmly  to  his  wife;  but  Helen,  who  had  read  all  his 
utterances  in  the  papers,  felt  that  the  clever  doctor, 
however  much  of  an  "educator"  he  might  be,  knew 
absolutely  nothing  about  the  one  class  in  the  community 
he  had  been  engaged  to  work  for.  His  ideas  about  edu 
cation  were  strictly  those  of  the  merchant  class,  the  only 
class  in  America  that  the  "  higher  education  "  concerned 
itself  with. 

However  all  that  might  be,  Dr.  Everest's  good  word, 
more  than  Wheeler's  persistency,  prevailed  against 
Pemberton's  prejudices.  The  architect  was  in  a  fair 
way  of  winning  the  long-coveted  prize. 

When  Everett  Wheeler  had  finally  obtained  the  con 
sent  of  his  associates  to  ask  the  architect  to  meet  the 
trustees  and  the  new  director  and  discuss  plans  for  the 
building,  the  lawyer  was  so  pleased  that  he  broke  an 
engagement  for  dinner,  and  took  the  train  to  Forest 
Park  instead.  He  might  have  telephoned  the  architect 
at  his  office,  but,  sluggish  as  he  was  temperamentally,  he 
had  long  promised  himself  the  pleasure  of  telling  Helen 
personally  the  good  news.  Of  late  she  had  not  seemed 
wholly  happy,  and  he  supposed  that  there  were  money 
troubles  in  the  household  which  would  now  be  relieved. 

He  found  a  number  of  people  in  the  studio  on  the 
bluff,  and  sat  down  patiently  to  wait.  It  had  been  a 
warm  day,  and  the  men  and  women  were  lounging  com 
fortably  on  the  grass  mats,  gossiping  and  enjoying  the 
cool  air  from  the  lake.  Jackson  was  in  high  spirits. 


THE   COMMON  LOT  239 

telling  Irish  stories,  a  social  gift  which  he  had  recently 
cultivated.  Wheeler  found  himself  near  Venetia  Phillips, 
who  was  nursing  a  sprained  elbow,  the  result  of  being 
pitched  against  a  fence  by  a  vicious  horse. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  over  there  and  try  your  charms 
on  Helen  ?  "  she  asked  Wheeler  peevishly.  "  She's  been 
out  of  sorts  all  this  summer.  When  you  see  the  solemn 
way  good  married  women  take  their  happiness,  it  doesn't 
encourage  you  to  try  your  luck  and  be  good.  I  wonder 
if  she  and  Jackie  scrap  ?  She  looks  as  if  she  had  a  very 
dull  life." 

"  Are  you  thinking  of  trying  your  chances  ?  "  the  law 
yer  asked  with  a  heavy  attempt  at  the  flippant  tone. 
"  You  ought  to  have  let  me  know." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  as  an  offer  ?  Does  it  lead  up  to 
anything  ?  " 

"I'll  put  it  in  legal  form,  if  you  will  give  me  the 
chance." 

"Should  I  consent  to  be  bored  with  one  Everett 
Wheeler,  a  lawyer,  specially  successful  in  making  bad 
corporations,  something  of  a  politician,  not  yet  fifty,  no 
known  vices,  easy  with  women?  Is  that  the  ques 
tion  ?  " 

"You  flatter  me." 

"  Wait  a  moment.     I  want  a  good  man  —  a  blue-ribbon, 
high-geared  saint ;   or  something  equally  clever  of  the 
other  kind.     Are  you  good  enough  ?  " 
-  "  Well,  I  guess  I  could  pass  with  the  rest." 

"That's  the  trouble.  You  are  just  about  up  to  the 
average  of  the  crowd.  You  wouldn't  steal,  and  you 


240  THE   COMMON  LOT 

wouldn't  run  away  with  any  one's  wife.  You're  too 
knowing ;  it  wouldn't  pay." 

"You're  right  there!" 

"And  if  I  get  into  trouble  any  time,  you're  just  the 
man  I'd  go  to.  You  wouldn't  make  remarks  of  a  moral 
nature,  and  you  would  know  how  to  squeeze  me  through 
a  little  hole.  But  you  wouldn't  do  to  marry." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  —  I'd  be  easy." 

"Too  tolerant — that's  the  trouble." 

"  You  are  a  wise  young  woman." 

"Yes,  I'm  very  wise  about  men.  I'm  going  to  write 
a  book  about  men  I  have  known  well.  It  will  be  read, 
too.  Do  you  want  to  go  in  ?  " 

"  Well,  let's  drop  me.  What  about  Helen  and  Jack  ? 
What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"I  can't  make  out  exactly.  Unsatisfied  aspirations, 
or  something  of  the  sort.  I  should  guess  that  our  Jack 
son  doesn't  come  up  to  specifications.  She  sighs  for  the 
larger  world.  Did  you  ever  meet  a  chap  who  used  to 
give  lessons  in  binding  paper  books  ?  That  was  some 
years  ago,  when  earnest  ladies  were  all  trying  to  do 
something  with  their  hands  to  revive  the  arts  and  crafts. 
His  name  was  Hussey.  He  was  a  poor,  thin  little  man, 
with  a  wife  dying  from  consumption  or  something  of  the 
sort.  I  have  always  thought  Helen  wanted  to  run  away 
with  Mr.  Hussey,  but  couldn't  get  up  her  courage. 
They  used  to  talk  socialism  and  anarchy  and  strikes 
until  the  air  was  red,  so  Maida  told  me.  It  was  sport 
to  see  him  and  Jackson  get  together.  Jack  would  offer 
him  a  cigar,  —  the  bad  kind  he  keeps  for  the  men 


THE   COMMON   LOT  241 

on  his  buildings.  Hussey  would  turn  him  down,  and 
then  Helen  would  ask  the  bookbinder  to  luncheon  or 
dinner,  and  that  would  give  Jack  a  fit.  But  Hussey 
wouldn't  stay.  He  had  ideas  about  the  masses  not 
mixing  with  the  classes  until  the  millennium  comes. 
Helen  would  argue  with  him,  but  it  was  no  use.  He 
thought  nothing  was  on  the  square.  Well,  one  day  he 
got  huffy  about  something  Jack  said,  so  Maida  says, 
and  went  off  and  never  turned  up  again  at  the  class. 
Helen  tried  to  find  him;  I  don't  think  she  ever  got  over 
it.  And  only  the  other  day  she  ran  across  him  again, 
Jack  told  me.  I  believe  that  Hussey  was  the  man  for 
her.  She  is  another  unsatisfied  soul.  I  am  going  now, 
and  you  had  better  try  to  cheer  her  up." 

It  was  beyond  the  lawyer's  power,  however,  to  pene 
trate  Helen's  mood.  She  seemed  curiously  removed 
from  the  scene.  The  banter  and  talk  of  the  people  on 
the  veranda  passed  over  her  unheeded ;  while  her  eyes 
rested  dreamily  on  the  trees,  among  which  the  summer 
twilight  was  stealing.  To  rouse  her  attention,  Wheeler 
brought  forth  his  news. 

"  I  came  out  here  to  tell  you  something,  Nell,"  he  said. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked  indifferently. 

"Jack  is  going  to  build  the  school.  It  has  just  been 
decided  to-day." 

She  gave  a  little  start,  as  though  his  words  brought  her 
back  to  the  present,  but  she  said  nothing. 
-  "  The  trustees  have  come  around  to  it  at  last.     You 
know  Pemberton  and  the  judge  wanted  a  public  compe 
tition,  or  something  of  the  kind." 

K 


242  THE  COMMON  LOT 

"  Why  don't  they  have  a  competition  ? "  she  asked 
quickly.  And  aroused  suddenly,  with  nervous  anima 
tion,  as  if  she  resented  the  suggestion  of  a  special  favor, 
she  continued,  "  It  would  be  much  fairer  to  have  an 
open  competition ! " 

"Why  should  we?  Isn't  Jack  the  old  man's 
nephew  ?  " 

She  made  no  reply,  and  he  said  nothing  more,  damp 
ened  by  the  way  she  took  his  splendid  news.  In  a  little 
while  the  others  left  and  they  had  dinner.  Wheeler 
expected  Helen  would  tell  her  husband  of  the  decision, 
but  she  seemed  to  have  forgotten  it.  So,  finally,  he 
was  forced  to  repeat  his  announcement.  He  dropped  it 
casually  and  coldly :  — 

"Well,  Jack,  we're  getting  that  school  business 
cleared  up.  Can  you  meet  the  trustees  and  the  doctor 
at  my  office  some  day  this  week  ?  " 

Jackson  bubbled  over  with  glee. 

"Hoorah!  "  he  shouted.  "  Good  for  you,  Everett !  We 
must  have  up  some  champagne." 

The  lawyer,  watching  Helen's  impassive  face,  felt  in 
clined  to  moderate  Jackson's  enthusiasm. 

"Of  course,  nothing's  settled  as  to  the  commission. 
You'll  be  asked  to  prepare  sketches  after  you  have  con 
sulted  with  Dr.  Everest.  That's  all." 

That  was  enough  for  the  architect.  He  thought  that 
he  could  satisfy  the  director,  and  if  he  succeeded  with 
him,  the  rest  of  the  way  was  clear.  When  the  champagne 
came,  he  pressed  his  thanks  on  his  cousin. 

"  It's  awfully  good  of  you,  Everett.     I  know  all  the 


THE   COMMON  LOT  243 

trouble  you  have  taken  for  me  in  this  matter.  You'll 
have  to  let  me  build  that  camp  in  the  Adirondacks  this 
fall.  My  heavens ! "  he  went  on,  too  excited  to  be  cau 
tious,  "you  don't  know  what  a  load  it  takes  off  my 
shoulders !  I  can  feel  myself  free  once  more.  It's  a 
big  thing,  the  first  big  thing  that's  come  my  way  since 
I  began.  How  much  do  the  trustees  mean  to  put  into 
the  building  ?  " 

"That  depends,"  the  lawyer  answered  cautiously. 
"  It  will  be  over  half  a  million,  anyway,  I  should 
suppose  —  maybe  nearer  a  million." 

"  It's  a  great  opportunity  ! "  the  architect  exclaimed, 
conscious  that  the  more  elevated  and  ideal  aspects  of  the 
subject  were  slipping  out  of  sight.  "  It  doesn't  come  every 
day,  the  chance  to  build  a  monument  like  the  school." 

"  You're  quite  right,"  Wheeler  assented. 

In  his  excitement,  Hart  left  his  seat  and  began  to  pace 
the  floor,  his  hands  twisting  his  napkin  nervously. 
Meanwhile  Helen  was  watching  the  bubbles  break  in  her 
champagne  glass.  Her  face  had  remained  utterly  blank, 
although  she  seemed  to  be  listening  to  her  husband. 
Perhaps,  thought  the  lawyer,  she  did  not  realize  what 
this  news  meant.  So  he  remarked  deliberately :  — 

"  It's  a  big  commission,  fast  enough,  if  you  get  it,  and 
there's  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  have  it.  I  don't 
know  of  another  young  fellow  in  your  line  in  this  city 
who's  had  the  same  chance  to  make  his  reputation  at  one 
stroke." 

Even  this  did  not  rouse  the  wife  to  speech.  A  flush 
stole  over  her  face  at  the  lawyer's  words ;  but  her  eyes 


244  THE  COMMON  LOT 

remained  buried  in  the  champagne  glass,  which  she 
twirled  gently  between  her  fingers,  thus  keeping  up  the 
effervescence.  Jackson  was  jubilant  enough  for  two. 

"  Dr.  Everest  and  I  were  talking  about  the  site  the 
other  day,"  he  said.  "  You  have  only  two  blocks.  There 
should  be  four,  at  least.  You  must  give  dignity  to  the 
main  building  by  some  kind  of  approach.  The  thing 
should  be  done  in  stone,  if  possible.  But  if  that's  too 
costly,  we  might  try  a  glazed  tile ;  you  can  get  very  good 
effects  in  that.  But  stone,  of  course,  is  the  proper 
thing." 

"  You  may  find  the  judge  and  Pemberton  pretty  stub 
born  on  matters  of  detail,"  Wheeler  remarked  cautiously. 

But  the  architect  flirted  his  napkin  buoyantly.  He 
had  dealt  with  building  committees  before,  and  he  had 
found  that  trustees  usually  took  their  duties  lightly. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it,  Nell  ?  "  the  lawyer 
asked  finally. 

"  Oh !  I  ?  "  She  looked  up  blankly  from  the  glass  of 
wine.  "  It  is  a  great  chance,  of  course." 

This  joyless  attitude,  unremarked  by  her  husband, 
caused  Wheeler  to  suspect  that  there  were  deeper 
troubles  in  this  household  than  money  worries. 

After  a  little  more  talk  in  which  Helen  did  not  take  part 
the  lawyer  left  to  take  his  train  for  the  city,  and  Jackson 
walked  to  the  station  with  him.  When  he  returned  he 
found  Helen  still  sitting  at  the  empty  table.  His  eyes 
were  aflame  with  the  golden  light  of  opportunity.  He 
put  his  hand  over  his  wife's  shoulder  and  pressed  her 
cheek  affectionately. 


THE   COMMON   LOT  245 

"  It's  great,  isn't  it,  Nell  ?  "  he  said. 

She  looked  up  into  his  face  with  a  wistful  smile.  The 
good  news  had  changed  him  wonderfully,  even  in  this 
brief  hour,  erasing  already  some  lines  from  his  face. 
It  seemed  as  if  his  nature  was  not  one  to  grow  strong 
in  the  storms  of  life,  but  needed,  rather,  the  warmth 
of  prosperity, 

"  It's  great,  isn't  it  ?  "  he  repeated,  desiring  to  savor 
the  good  fortune  with  her. 

"  Yes,  Francis,"  she  replied  slowly,  and  added  almost 
pleadingly,  "  and  you  must  do  it  greatly." 

"  Of  course,"  he  assented  cheerily.  "  It'll  be  the  best 
yet  —  don't  you  worry ! " 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ABOUT  six  miles  from  the  centre  of  the  city  on  the 
South  Side,  not  far  from  the  lake,  might  be  seen  the 
foundations  and  first  two  stories  of  a  considerable  build 
ing  that  had  been  abandoned  for  several  years.  It  was 
to  have  been  a  hotel,  but  its  promoters,  who  were  small 
capitalists  from  a  distant  city,  had  been  caught  in  the 
real  estate  disasters  of  '93.  Litigation  ensuing  among 
themselves,  nothing  had  ever  been  done  with  the 
property.  The  unfinished  walls,  standing  at  the  corner 
of  one  of  the  boulevards  and  overlooking  a  large  park, 
were  a  landmark  in  the  neighborhood.  A  thick  growth 
of  weeds  partially  covered  the  loose  piles  of  brick  and 
stone  that  littered  the  ground  and  filled  the  hollow  shell. 
Desolate,  speedily  disintegrating,  the  ruin  stood  there, 
four  windowless  walls,  a  figure  of  unsubstantial  and 
abortive  enterprise. 

Hart  had  often  passed  the  ruin  when  his  business 
called  him  to  that  part  of  the  city.  One  day  this  sum 
mer,  as  he  was  driving  through  the  park  with  Graves  on 
his  way  to  inspect  the  last  string  of  cheap  stone  houses 
that  the  contractor  had  built,  Graves  called  his  attention 
to  the  place. 

"  That  pile  must  be  pretty  well  covered  with  tax  liens," 
246 


THE  COMMON  LOT  247 

the  contractor  observed,  as  they  turned  into  the  boule 
vard  and  approached  the  ruin.  "  It's  a  sightly  piece  of 
property,  too,  and  the  right  spot  for  a  family  hotel." 

"  Who  are  the  owners  ?  "  Hart  asked. 

"A  lot  of  little  fellers  out  in  Omaha;  they  got  to 
fightin'  among  themselves.  It  might  be  had  cheap. 
Let's  go  over  and  take  a  look  at  the  place." 

He  hitched  his  horse  to  a  tree  in  front  of  the  ruin,  and 
the  two  men  pushed  their  way  through  the  weeds  and 
rubbish  into  the  cellar. 

"Pretty  solid  foundations,"  the  contractor  observed, 
picking  at  a  piece  of  mortar  with  the  blade  of  his  clasp 
knife.  "  There's  most  enough  stone  lying  around  here 
to  trim  the  whole  building.  What  do  you  think  of  the 
walls  ?  Has  the  frost  eat  into  'em  much  ?  " 

They  scrambled  in  and  out  among  the  piers  and  first 
story  walls,  testing  the  mortar,  scraping  away  the  weeds 
here  and  there  to  get  a  closer  view  of  the  joints.  The 
upper  courses  of  the  brick  had  been  left  exposed  to  the 
weather  and  were  obviously  crumbling.  The  architect 
thought  that  the  outer  walls  might  have  to  be  rebuilt 
almost  from  the  foundations.  But  the  contractor  ob 
served  that  it  would  be  sufficient  to  rip  off  half  a  dozen 
courses  of  the  masonry,  as  the  walls  were  needlessly  thick. 

"Those  fellers  thought  they  were  going  to  build  a 
jim-dandy  Waldorf,  judging  from  the  amount  of  stone 
they  were  putting  in,"  the  contractor  remarked,  as  they 
climbed  into  the  buggy  and  resumed  their  way  to  the  city. 
"  I  guess  it  wouldn't  be  much  of  a  risk  to  buy  up  the  tax 
rights.  The  land  and  material  would  be  worth  it." 


248  THE    COMMON   LOT 

"I  should  say  so,"  the  architect  assented,  seeing  how 
the  matter  was  shaping  itself  in  his  companion's  mind. 

"  Those  foundations  would  take  a  pretty  big  building, 
eight  or  ten  stories." 

"  Easily." 

They  talked  it  over  on  their  way  back  to  the  city. 
The  contractor  had  already  formed  a  plan  for  utilizing 
the  property.  He  had  in  mind  the  organization  of  a 
construction  company,  which  would  pay  him  for  building 
the  hotel  with  its  bonds,  and  give  him  a  large  bonus 
of  stock  besides.  The  architect  was  familiar  with  that 
method  of  finance.  The  hotel  when  finished  would  be 
rented  to  another  company  for  operation,  and  by  that 
time  the  contractor  and  his  friends  would  have  disposed 
of  their  stock  and  bonds. 

"You  must  let  me  in  on  this,"  Jackson  said  boldly, 
as  they  neared  the  city.  "  I'm  getting  sick  of  doing  your 
dinky  instalment-plan  suburban  villas  and  getting  noth 
ing  out  of  it.  I  want  to  make  some  money,  and  this 
scheme  looks  pretty  good." 

"  There's  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  make  some 
thing,  too,"  the  contractor  answered  readily.  "You 
might  interest  some  of  your  rich  friends  in  the  company, 
and  get  a  block  of  stock  for  yourself." 

Hart  had  a  pressing  need  of  ready  money  rather  than 
such  dubious  promoter's  profits.  Rainbow  and  Harris 
had  not  pushed  him  to  pay  the  balance  against  him  on 
their  books,  but  their  leniency  would  not  extend  beyond 
the  first  of  the  month.  Then,  if  he  could  not  get  the 
money  in  some  other  way,  he  should  have  to  go  to  his 


THE   COMMON   LOT  249 

mother,  or  take  the  little  legacy  that  his  uncle  had  left 
Helen.  That  very  day  he  had  had  it  in  his  mind  to  ask 
the  contractor  to  let  him  have  twelve  thousand  dollars 
on  his  note,  which  would  get  him  out  of  his  immediate 
difficulties.  He  could  pay  it  with  the  first  return  from 
the  school  commission,  on  which  he  was  reckoning. 

But  when  Graves  described  the  hotel  project,  he  re 
solved  to  wait  a  little  longer,  in  the  hope  that  some 
how  he  might  make  more  than  enough  to  pay  his  debts. 
What  he  needed  was  some  capital.  It  was  to  obtain 
this  independent  capital  that  he  had  ventured  with  the 
broker.  Why  had  he  not  had  the  wit  to  see  the  chance 
that  lay  in  that  old  ruin  and  use  it  on  his  own  account? 
For  the  last  five  years  many  men  that  he  knew  had  been 
making  fortunes,  while  he  was  working  hard  for  precari 
ous  wages.  No  matter  what  he  might  earn  in  his  profes 
sion,  he  could  never  feel  at  ease,  have  enough  for  his 
ambitions.  He  saw  that  his  fees  from  the  practice  of 
architecture  would  never  satisfy  him.  He  must  have 
capital, — money  that  would  breed  money  independently 
of  his  exertions.  Latterly  his  mind  had  turned  much 
about  this  one  desire. 

"  You'll  want  me  to  draw  the  plans  for  the  hotel,  I 
suppose  ?  "  he  asked  the  contractor. 

"  Yes,  you  might  get  up  some  sketches  for  a  ten-story 
building  right  away  —  something  to  show  the  men  I 
want  to  interest  in  the  scheme,"  Graves  answered 
promptly.  "  When  you  have  'em  ready,  come  around 
and  we'll  see  if  we  can't  fix  up  some  kind  of  deal." 

It  was   evident  that  the   contractor  had  gone  much 


250  THE  COMMON  LOT 

farther  in  the  hotel  matter  than  he  had  told  Hart.  Prob 
ably  he  had  already  taken  measures  to  get  control  of  the 
abandoned  property  and  had  his  corporation  organized. 

At  this  point  Jackson  learned  from  Everett  that  the 
trustees  were  ready  to  ask  him  for  preliminary  sketches 
for  the  school,  and  almost  at  the  same  time  he  received  a 
polite  note  from  the  brokers  calling  his  attention  to  his 
debt.  He  went  at  once  to  Graves' s  office  and  asked  the 
contractor  for  the  loan,  saying  that  he  was  to  have  the 
school  and  should  be  put  to  extraordinary  expenses  in 
his  office  for  the  next  few  months.  The  contractor  let 
him  have  the  money  readily  enough  on  his  personal  note. 
Graves  did  not  speak  of  the  hotel,  and  for  the  moment 
the  school  had  driven  all  else  from  the  architect's  mind. 
He  was  kept  busy  these  days  by  consultations  with  the 
trustees  and  the  director  of  the  school,  getting  their 
ideas  about  the  building.  One  morning  the  newspapers 
had  an  item,  saying  that  "F.  J.  Hart,  the  prominent 
young  architect,  nephew  of  the  late  Powers  Jackson, 
had  received  the  commission  for  building  the  new 
Jackson  Institute,  and  was  engaged  in  drawing  plans  for 
a  magnificent  structure,  which  in  luxury  and  complete 
ness  would  outrank  any  similar  institution  in  the 
country."  Before  noon  that  same  day  Hart  received  a 
curt  message  from  Judge  Phillips  to  call  at  his  office,  and 
foreseeing  trouble  with  the  trustees  about  the  newspaper 
paragraph,  he  went  scowling  into  the  draughting-room. 

"  Some  of  you  boys  must  have  been  talking  loose  about 
what's  going  on  in  this  office,"  he  said  accusingly. 


THE   COMMON  LOT  251 

"  The  Tribune  man  had  the  story  straight  enough  when 
he  came  in  here,"  Cook  replied  in  defence.  "  He  must 
have  got  it  from  some  one  who  knew  what  he  was  talking 
about." 

Hart  went  over  to  the  judge's  office  and  tried  to  explain 
matters  to  the  old  gentleman,  who,  besides  having  a  great 
dislike  of  "newspaper  talk,"  felt  that  the  trustees  were 
being  deliberately  coerced  into  giving  their  commission 
to  this  pushing  young  man.  The  architect  was  forced  to 
swallow  some  peppery  remarks  about  indelicate  methods 
of  securing  business.  When  he  left  the  judge,  who  was 
only  half  convinced  of  his  sincerity,  he  went  to  see  Graves, 
and  vented  his  irritation  on  the  contractor. 

"  You  let  things  leak  out  of  your  office.  You  got  me 
into  hot  water  by  giving  out  that  story  about  the  school." 

"  How  so  ?  It's  straight,  ain't  it  ?  You've  got  the 
building  ?  You  said  so  the  other  day  when  you  came  in 
here  to  borrow  that  money." 

"  It  amounts  to  the  same  thing,  though  it  hasn't  been 
formally  settled.  They  are  touchy  enough  about  their 
old  job.  They've  asked  me  to  prepare  the  first  sketches 
—  that's  all  so  far." 

"  Oh !  That's  all,  is  it  ? "  the  contractor  remarked 
coldly.  "  I  thought  you  had  the  job  in  your  inside 
pocket  from  the  way  you  talked  the  other  day." 

Hart's  face  reddened  and  he  stammered :  — 

"  It's  all  right.  They  are  sure  to  take  me,  only  they 
are. a  little  slow,  and  I  don't  want  to  seem  to  force  them." 

Graves  continued  to  examine  the  man  before  him  with 
his  shrewd  little  eyes,  and  Hart  realized  that  the  contrac- 


252  THE   COMMON   LOT 

tor  had  given  the  news  to  the  papers  for  the  precise  pur. 
pose  of  finding  out  where  the  trustees  stood. 

"  Well,  when  you  get  ready  to  build  the  school  I  expect 
we  shall  be  doing  a  good  deal  of  business  together," 
Graves  remarked  tentatively. 

The  architect  moved  back  in  his  chair,  more  comfort 
able  at  the  change  in  the  conversation. 

"  I  shall  want  you  to  bid,  of  course.  But  I  don't  know 
yet  whether  the  trustees  mean  to  let  the  contract  as  a 
whole." 

"  They'll  do  pretty  much  what  you  say,  won't  they  ? 
Ain't  one  of  them  your  cousin  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  want  that  contract.  Can't  you  fix  it  so's  I 
can  get  it  ?  " 

Hart  knew  altogether  too  well  what  the  contractor 
meant  by  this  blunt  request.  An  architect  has  it  in  his 
power  to  draw  his  specifications  in  such  a  manner  that 
only  a  few  favored  contractors  will  dare  to  bid.  If  out 
siders  venture  to  bid  for  the  work,  they  cannot  with  safety 
go  low  enough  to  get  the  contract.  In  the  case  of  a  large 
building  this  is  a  more  difficult  manoeuvre  to  manage  than 
with  less  important  work.  Yet  even  with  a  building 
of  the  importance  of  the  projected  school,  contractors 
would  be  chary  of  bidding  against  a  man  who  was  as 
closely  identified  with  the  architect  as  Graves  was  with 
Hart. 

"  They  say  now,"  Hart  protested,  "  that  nobody  else 
gets  a  show  in  my  office." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  see  what  there  might  be  in  this 


THE   COMMON   LOT  253 

for  you,  Mr.  Hart,"  the  contractor  persisted,  without 
replying  directly  to  the  architect's  objection. 

A  stenographer  interrupted  them  at  this  point,  and  the 
architect  had  a  few  moments  to  think  while  Graves  was 
engaged.  He  knew  better  than  any  one  else  the  devious 
methods  of  the  contractor,  and  it  had  already  occurred 
to  him  that  this  would  be  a  good  opportunity  to  sever 
his  close  connection  with  the  Graves  Construction  Com 
pany.  He  would,  of  course,  allow  Graves  to  bid  on  the 
school  contracts,  but  would  show  him  no  favors.  Yet 
the  contractor's  last  words  made  him  reflect.  There 
was  the  hotel  with  its  unknown  possibilities  of  large 
returns.  Moreover,  the  Graves  Construction  Company 
was  no  longer  the  weak  enterprise  that  it  had  been  five 
years  before.  Graves  had  made  a  great  deal  of  money 
these  last  prosperous  years,  and  his  "  corporation  "  was 
one  of  the  largest  of  its  kind  in  the  city.  It  would  be 
stupid  to  break  with  the  man  altogether. 

"  Come,  this  ain't  quiet  enough  here.  Let's  step  over 
to  Burke's  and  talk  it  out,"  the  contractor  suggested, 
looking  up  from  the  papers  the  stenographer  had  brought 
in. 

So  the  two  men  went  across  the  street  to  Burke's, 
which  was  a  quiet  sort  of  drinking-place,  frequented  by 
the  better  class  of  sporting  men.  In  the  rear  there  were 
a  number  of  little  rooms,  where  whispered  conversations 
intended  for  but  two  pairs  of  ears  were  often  held. 
When  the  negro  attendant  had  wiped  the  mahogany 
table  and  brought  them  their  whiskey,  Graves  began  :  — 

"  Mr.  Hart,  I'm  going  to  give  you  the  chance  of  your 


254  THE  COMMON  LOT 

Me  to  make  a  lump  of  money,  sure  and  quick,  and  no 
gold-brick  proposition,  either." 

Graves  poured  himself  a  drink,  and  meditatively  twirled 
the  small  glass  between  his  fat  fingers  before  he  explained 
himself. 

"  You  do  the  right  thing  by  me  in  this  school  job,  and 
I  '11  see  that  you  are  properly  fixed  on  the  hotel  scheme." 

The  details  of  the  plan  came  cautiously  and  slowly 
from  the  contractor,  while  Hart  listened  in  a  non-com 
mittal  frame  of  mind.  The  thing  proposed  was  really 
very  simple.  The  architect  was  to  draw  the  school  speci 
fications  so  that  only  a  few  firms  would  bid,  and  of  these 
only  one  or  two  would  be  genuine  competitors.  The  con 
tractor  would  see  to  it  that  there  were  enough  bidders  at 
approximately  his  own  figure  to  prevent  suspicion  on  the 
part  of  the  trustees.  In  return  for  this  favor,  Graves 
offered  a  large  block  of  stock  in  the  hotel  company,  "  for 
doing  the  plans  of  the  hotel,"  which  he  was  ready  to 
guarantee  would  be  worth  a  certain  sum. 

Of  course  there  was  an  unspecified  item  in  the  transac 
tion,  which  was  perfectly  obvious  to  the  architect.  If 
the  contractor  was  ready  to  make  these  terms  in  order  to 
obtain  the  school,  there  must  be  enough  in  the  job  above 
the  legitimate  profit  on  the  contract  to  make  it  well  worth 
his  while.  The  architect  saw,  less  sharply,  that  this 
extra  profit  would  be  made,  more  or  less,  with  his  pro 
fessional  connivance.  It  would  be  impossible  to  get  the 
trustees  to  accept  bids  so  high  that  the  contractor  could 
reap  his  profit  and  still  do  the  work  up  to  the  specifica 
tions.  It  would  be  necessary  to  specify  needlessly  elabo- 


THE   COMMON  LOT  255 

rate  steel  work,  cut  stone,  and  interior  finish,  with  the 
understanding  that  the  Graves  Company  would  not  be 
forced  to  live  up  to  these  gilt-edged  specifications.  It 
might  be  necessary,  even,  to  prepare  two  sets  of  specifi 
cations  for  the  more  important  parts  of  the  contract, — 
one  for  the  bidding,  and  one  for  the  use  of  the  subcon 
tractors, —  although  that  would  be  dangerous. 

Hart  smoked  and  listened,  while  Graves,  having  out 
lined  his  plan,  spoke  of  the  profit  to  the  architect. 

"If  you  want,  I'll  agree  to  take  the  hotel  stock  off 
your  hands  at  par  from  time  to  time  as  the  two  buildings 
go  up.  You  can  figure  out  now  what  you'll  make.  It 
will  not  be  far  from  seventy  thousand  dollars,  what  with 
your  commissions  and  the  stock.  And  I'll  guarantee, 
Hart,  that  you'll  have  no  trouble.  That  drunken  Dutch 
man  can  work  over  any  details  that  have  to  be  fixed  — 
my  own  expense.  Nothing  need  go  through  your  office 
that  ain't  first-class  and  regular." 

The  plan  seemed  perfectly  simple,  and  the  architect's 
imagination  fastened  on  the  big  bait  which  the  contractor 
held  out.  Graves  repeated  slowly  in  his  thick  tones :  — 

"  A  year,  or  say  eighteen  months,  from  now,  you'll  have 
about  seventy-five  thousand  dollars  in  the  bank." 

That  would  be  capital !  The  lack  of  capital  had  tripped 
him  at  every  turn.  With  that  amount  of  money,  he  could 
plant  his  feet  firmly  on  the  earth  and  prepare  to  spring 
still  higher. 

• "  Of  course,"  Graves  continued,  "  you'd  stand  by  me  — 
help  me  out  with  the  trustees  if  there  was  any  kick." 

In  other  words,  for  the  term  of  a  year  or  eighteen 


256  THE   COMMON    LOT 

months  he  would  be  this  contractor's  creature.  But  the 
architect  was  thinking  of  something  else.  .  .  . 

The  line  between  what  is  honest  and  dishonest  in  busi 
ness  is  a  difficult  one  to  plot.  From  generation  to  genera 
tion  standards  alter  in  the  business  world  as  elsewhere, 
and  to-day  men  will  do  unblushingly,  and  with  the  ap 
proval  of  their  fellows,  that  which  in  another  generation 
will,  doubtless,  become  a  penitentiary  offence.  Business 
is  warfare,  and  whatever  men  may  say  on  Sundays,  the 
hardy  man  of  business  will  condone  a  thrifty  sin  of  com 
petition  sooner  than  any  other  sin.  Every  one  of  the 
fighters  in  the  battle  knows  how  hard  it  is  to  make  a 
dollar  honestly  or  dishonestly,  and  he  prefers  to  call 
certain  acts  "  indelicate "  or  "  unprofessional,"  rather 
than  dishonest. 

Of  such  "unprofessional"  conduct  Hart  had  been 
guilty  a  number  of  times,  and  the  matter  had  not 
troubled  him  greatly.  But  this  arrangement,  which  the 
contractor  was  urging,  was  of  more  positive  stripe.  Al 
though  it  was  not  clear  how  close  a  connivance  with 
fraud  would  be  necessary,  it  might  involve  outright  ras 
cality,  which,  if  it  became  known  in  the  community, 
would  ruin  his  professional  standing  for  life.  He  would 
be  taking  a  great  risk  to  grasp  that  promised  lump  of 
money.  While  Graves  talked  in  his  thick,  guttural 
tones,  Hart  was  weighing  this  risk.  The  whiskey  that 
he  had  been  drinking  had  not  obscured  his  vision  in  the 
least,  although  it  shed  a  rosier  glow  over  the  desired 
capital.  It  must  be  admitted  that  the  architect  gave 
little  consideration  to  the  trustees  or  to  his  uncle's  be- 


THE   COMMON   LOT  257 

quest.  It  would  have  pleased  him,  if  he  had  thought 
much  about  it,  to  make  a  good  round  hole  in  his  uncle's 
millions,  of  which  the  old  man  had  deprived  him.  And 
as  for  the  trustees,  they  were  shrewd  men  of  the  world, 
quite  able  to  take  care  of  themselves. 

But,  instinctively,  he  recoiled  from  the  act.  He  would 
much  prefer  a  clean,  honorable,  "  high-class  "  career.  If 
he  could  have  secured  money  enough  to  satisfy  his  am 
bitions,  to  lead  the  kind  of  life  he  liked,  without  resort 
to  such  knavery  as  this,  it  would  have  been  much 
pleasanter.  But  in  one  way  or  another  he  must  make 
money,  and  make  it  more  rapidly  and  more  abundantly 
than  he  had  been  doing.  That  was  success.  When  he 
had  come  to  this  point,  he  had  already  consented  with 
himself.  .  .  . 

They  had  been  sitting  there  nearly  two  hours,  but 
latterly  little  had  been  said.  The  contractor  was  patient 
and  diplomatic.  Finally  he  asked,  "Well,  Hart,  what 
do  you  say?" 

Hart  lighted  another  cigar  before  speaking,  and  then 
replied  deliberately :  "  I  will  think  over  what  you  say.  I 
understand  that  the  stock  is  given  me  instead  of  my  regu 
lar  commission  on  the  hotel,  and  will  be  worth  a  fixed 
sum  ?  " 

"  That's  it !  " 

Then  they  went  out  into  the  street  without  further 
words.  Hart  returned  to  his  office,  examined  his  mail, 
wrapped  up  his  first  sketches  for  the  school,  and  set  out 
for  the  train.  The  deal  with  Graves  unconsciously  filled 
his  mind  and  made  him  feel  strange  to  himself.  Yet 


258  THE  COMMON   LOT 

he  thought  less  of  the  practical  detail  of  the  transaction 
than  of  certain  specious  considerations  concerning  the 
morality  of  what  he  was  going  to  do. 

Business  was  war,  he  said  to  himself  again  and  again, 
and  in  this  war  only  the  little  fellows  had  to  be  strictly 
honest.  The  big  ones,  those  that  governed  the  world, 
stole,  lied,  cheated  their  fellows  openly  in  the  market. 
The  Bushfields  took  their  rake-off;  the  Rainbows  were 
the  financial  pimps,  who  fattened  on  the  vices  of  the 
great  industrial  leaders.  Colonel  Raymond  might  dis 
charge  a  man  on  his  road  who  stole  fifty  cents  or  was 
seen  to  enter  a  bucket  shop,  but  in  the  reorganization  of 
the  Michigan  Northern  ten  years  previously,  he  and  his 
friends  had  pocketed  several  millions  of  dollars,  and  had 
won  the  lawsuits  brought  against  them  by  the  defrauded 
stockholders. 

It  was  a  world  of  graft,  the  architect  judged  cynically. 
Old  Powers  Jackson,  it  was  said  in  Chicago,  would  cheat 
the  glass  eye  out  of  his  best  friend  in  a  deal.  He,  too, 
would  follow  in  the  path  of  the  strong,  and  take  what 
was  within  his  reach.  He  would  climb  hardily  to  the 
top,  and  then  who  cared?  That  gospel  of  strenuous 
effort,  which  our  statesmen  and  orators  are  so  fond  of 
shouting  forth,  has  its  followers  in  the  little  Jackson 
Harts.  Only,  in  putting  forth  their  strong  right  arms, 
they  often  thrust  them  into  their  neighbors'  pockets. 
And  the  irresponsible  great  ones,  who  have  emerged  be 
yond  the  reign  of  law,  have  their  disciples  in  all  the 
strata  of  society,  —  down,  down  to  the  boy  who  plays 
the  races  with  the  cash  in  his  employer's  till. 


THE  COMMON   LOT  259 

The  architect  went  home  to  his  wife  and  children  with 
the  honest  love  that  he  bore  them.  If  they  had  entered 
his  mind  in  connection  with  this  day's  experience,  he 
would  have  believed  that  largely  for  their  sakes,  for  their 
advancement  in  the  social  scheme  of  things,  he  had  en 
gaged  upon  a  toilsome  and  disagreeable  task.  For  he 
did  not  like  slippery  ways. 


CHAPTER  XX 

HART'S  design  for  the  school  had  finally  been  accepted 
by  the  trustees,  and  the  plans  were  placed  on  exhibi 
tion  in  the  Art  Institute.  Little  knots  of  people  —  stu 
dents,  draughtsmen,  and  young  architects  —  gathered 
in  the  room  on  the  second  floor,  where  the  elevations 
had  been  hung,  and  had  their  say  about  the  plans.  Occa 
sionally  a  few  older  men  and  women,  interested  in 
the  nobler  aspects  of  civic  life,  drifted  into  the  room, 
having  stolen  some  moments  from  their  busy  days  to  see 
what  the  architect  had  done  with  his  great  opportunity. 

"  Gee  !  Ain't  it  a  hummer,  now !  "  exclaimed  one  of 
Wright's  men,  who  had  known  Hart  in  the  old  days. 
"  He's  let  himself  out  this  time,  sure.  It  will  cover  most 
two  blocks." 

"The  main  part  of  the  design  is  straight  from  the 
Hotel  de  Ville,"  one  of  the  young  architects  objected 
disdainfully.  He  and  his  friends  thought  there  were 
many  better  architects  in  the  city  than  F.  Jackson  Hart, 
and  grumbled  accordingly.  "  I  bet  I  could  find  every 
line  in  the  design  from  some  French  thing  or  other. 
Hart's  an  awful  thief;  he  can't  think  for  himself." 

"  Where  is  the  purpose  of  the  structure  expressed  ?  " 
another  demanded  severely.  "  It  would  do  just  as 

260 


THE   COMMON  LOT  261 

well  for  the  administration  building  of  a  fair  as  for  a 
school!"  .  . 

"A  voluptuous  and  ornamental  design;  the  space  is 
wickedly  wasted  in  mere  display.  The  money  that  ought 
to  go  into  education  will  be  eaten  up  in  this  pretentious, 
flaunting  building  that  will  cover  all  the  land."  .  .  . 

"  What  have  I  been  telling  you  ?  "  commented  an  ad 
miring  citizen  to  his  neighbor.  "  Chicago  ain't  a  village 
any  more.  A  few  buildings  like  this  and  the  university 
ones,  and  the  world  will  begin  to  see  what  we  are  doing 
out  here  ! " 

"  What's  the  dome  for  ?  "... 

"  I  say  the  people  should  have  the  best  there  is." 

"  Pull,  pull  —  that 's  what 's  written  all  over  this 
plan!  The  architect  was  some  sort  of  relation  to  the 
man  who  gave  the  school,  wasn't  he  ?  " 

Even  Wright,  who  happened  to  be  in  the  city,  stepped 
into  the  Institute  to  look  at  the  plans.  He  studied  them 
closely  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then,  with  a  smile  on  his 
face,  moved  off. 

Hart  had,  indeed,  "  let  himself  out."  It  was  to  be  a 
master  work,  and  by  its  achievement  raise  him  at  once 
into  the  higher  ranks  of  his  profession.  For  the  first 
time  he  had  felt  perfectly  free  to  create.  As  often 
happens,  when  the  artist  comes  to  this  desired  point  and 
looks  into  his  soul,  he  finds  nothing  there.  The  design 
was  splendid,  in  a  sense — very  large  and  imposing  :  an 
imperial  flight  of  steps,  a  lofty  dome  which  fastened  the 
spectator's  eyes,  and  two  sweeping  wings  to  support  the 


262  THE  COMMON  LOT 

central  mass.  Nevertheless,  the  architect  had  not  escaped 
from  his  training ;  it  was  another  one  of  the  Beaux  Arts 
exercises  that  Wright  used  to  "  trim."  Years  hence  the 
expert  would  assign  it  to  its  proper  place  in  the  imitative 
period  of  our  arts,  as  surely  as  the  literary  expert  has  al 
ready  placed  there  the  poet  Longfellow.  Though  Hart 
had  learned  much  in  the  past  six  years,  it  had  been 
chiefly  in  the  mechanics  of  his  art :  he  was  a  cleverer 
architect,  but  a  more  wooden  artist.  For  the  years  he 
had  spent  in  the  workshop  of  the  great  city  had  deadened 
his  sense  of  beauty.  The  clamor  and  excitement  and 
gross  delight  of  living  had  numbed  his  sense  of  the  fine, 
the  noble,  the  restrained.  He  had  never  had  time  to 
think,  only  to  contrive,  and  facility  had  supplied  the  want 
of  ideas.  Thus  he  had  forgotten  Beauty,  and  been  content 
to  live  without  that  constant  inner  vision  of  her  which 
deadens  bodily  hunger  and  feeds  the  soul  of  the  artist. 

So  Wright  read  the  dead  soul  beneath  the  ambitious 
design. 

Mrs.  Phillips  came  rustling  in  with  friends,  to  whom 
she  exhibited  the  plans  with  an  air  of  ownership  in  the 
architect. 

"It's  the  cleverest  thing  that  has  been  done  in  this 
city ;  every  one  says  so.  I  tell  Harrison  that  he  has  me 
to  thank  for  this.  It  was  a  case  of  poetic  justice,  too. 
You  know  the  story  ?  One  forgets  so  easily  here ;  it's 
hard  to  remember  who  died  last  month.  Why,  the  old 
man  Jackson  left  pretty  nearly  every  cent  of  his  money 
to  found  this  school.  I  think  he  was  crazy,  and  I  should 


THE   COMMON   LOT  263 

have  fought  the  will  if  I  had  been  a  relative.  At  any 
rate,  it  was  a  nasty  joke  on  this  Mr.  Hart,  who  was  his 
nephew  and  every  one  thought  would  be  his  heir. 

"  But  he  has  made  such  a  plucky  fight,  got  the  respect 
of  every  one,  gone  right  along,  and  succeeded  splendidly 
in  his  profession.  He  married  foolishly,  too.  Poor 
girl,  not  a  cent,  and  not  the  kind  to  help  him  one  bit,  you 
know,  —  no  style,  can't  say  a  word  for  herself.  She's 
done  a  good  deal  to  keep  him  back,  but  he  has  managed 
to  survive  even  that.  I  wonder  he  hasn't  broken  with 
her.  I  do,  really !  They  haven't  a  thing  in  common. 
They  had  a  pleasant  home  out  in  the  Park,  you  know, 
and  a  good  position  —  every  one  knew  them  there.  He 
is  the  kind  to  make  friends  everywhere.  And  what  do 
you  think  ?  She  made  him  give  up  his  house  and  come 
into  town  to  live  !  The  Park  was  too  far  away  from  her 
friends,  or  something  of  the  sort  —  wanted  to  educate 
her  children  in  the  city,  and  all  that.  I  believe  it  was 
jealousy  of  him.  He  was  popular,  and  she  wasn't.  No 
woman  will  stand  that  sort  of  thing,  of  course. 

"  So  now  they  have  taken  a  house  on  Scott  Street,  —  a 
little,  uncomfortable  box,  the  kind  of  place  that  is  all 
hall  and  dining-room.  Of  course  they  don't  have  to 
live  like  that;  he's  making  money.  But  she  says  she 
doesn't  want  to  be  bothered  —  has  ideas  about  simple 
living.  The  trouble  is,  she  hasn't  any  ambition,  and 
he's  brimful  of  it.  He  could  get  anywhere  if  it  weren't 
for  her.  It's  a  shame !  I  don't  believe  she  half  appre 
ciates  even  this.  Isn't  it  splendid  ?  He  has  such  large 
ideas ! 


264  THE   COMMON   LOT 

"Venetia  is  thick  with  her,  of  course.  You  might 
know  she  would  be.  It's  through  Mrs.  Hart  she  meets 
those  queer,  tacky  people.  I  tell  you,  the  woman  counts 
much  more  than  the  man  when  it  comes  to  making  your 
way  in  the  world ;  don't  you  think  so  ?  "... 

And  with  further  words  of  praise  for  the  plans  and 
commiseration  for  the  architect,  the  widow  wandered 
into  the  next  room  with  her  friends,  then  descended 
to  her  carriage,  dismissing  art  and  life  together  in  the 
prospect  of  dinner. 

Helen  made  a  point  of  taking  the  boys  to  see  their 
father's  work,  and  explained  carefully  to  them  what  it 
all  meant.  They  followed  her  open-eyed,  tracing  with 
their  little  fingers  the  main  features  of  the  design  as 
she  pointed  them  out,  and  saying  over  the  hard 
names.  It  was  there  Venetia  Phillips  found  her,  seated 
before  the  large  sketch  of  the  south  elevation,  dreaming, 
while  the  boys,  their  lesson  finished,  had  slipped  into  the 
next  room  to  look  at  the  pictures. 

"Have  you  seen  my  mother?"  she  asked  breathlessly, 
seating  herself  beside  Helen.  "I  brought  Dr.  Coburn, 
and  we  almost  ran  into  Mrs.  Phillips  the  first  thing. 
So  I  dodged  into  the  Greek  room  and  left  him  there 
to  study  anatomy.  She  had  that  horrid  Rainbow  woman 
with  her  and  would  have  been  nasty  to  the  doctor. 
Mother  is  such  a  splendid  snob ! "  she  explained  frankly. 

"Well,  well,  our  Jackie  has  done  himself  proud  this 
time,  hasn't  he?  He's  a  little  given  to  the  splurge, 
though,  don't  you  think?" 


THE   COMMON   LOT  265 

Helen  did  not  answer.  She  did  not  like  to  admit  even 
to  herself  that  her  husband's  greatest  effort  was  a  failure. 
Yet  she  was  a  terribly  honest  woman,  and  there  was  no 
glow  in  her  heart.  Indeed,  the  school  and  all  about 
it  had  become  unpleasant  to  her,  covered  as  it  was 
with  sordid  memories  of  her  husband's  efforts  to  get 
the  work.  Latterly  there  had  been  added  to  these  the 
almost  daily  bickerings  with  the  trustees,  which  the 
architect  reported.  The  plans  had  not  been  accepted 
easily. 

"All  the  same,  Jack's  got  some  good  advertising  out 
of  it,"  Venetia  continued  encouragingly,  noticing  Helen's 
silence.  "The  newspapers  are  throwing  him  polite  re 
marks,  I  see.  But  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  some 
thing  else.  Mamma  has  been  losing  a  lot  of  money; 
bad  investments  made  in  boom  times ;  sure  things,  you 
know,  like  copper  and  steel.  She's  very  much  pressed, 
and  she  wants  to  put  my  money  up  to  save  some  of  the 
stocks.  Uncle  Harry  is  raging,  and  wants  me  to  promise 
him  not  to  let  her  have  a  cent.  Stanwood  has  come  home 
—  there  doesn't  seem  to  be  anything  else  for  him  to  do. 
It's  all  rather  nasty.  I  don't  know  what  to  say  about  the 
money;  it  seems  low  to  hold  your  mother  up  in  her 
second  youth.  And  yet  the  pace  Mrs.  Phillips  keeps 
would  finish  my  money  pretty  soon.  It's  a  pity  Mrs. 
Raymond  won't  die  and  give  mother  a  chance  to  make 
a  good  finish." 

"Venetia!" 

"What's  the  harm  in  my  saying  what  all  the  world 
that  knows  us  is  saying?  It's  been  a  ten  years'  piece 


266  THE  COMMON  LOT 

of  gossip.  I  feel  sorry  for  her,  too.  It  must  be  rough 
to  get  along  in  life  and  see  you  have  muckered  your 
game.  .  .  .  Do  you  know,  I  am  terribly  tempted  to 
let  her  have  the  money,  all  of  it,  and  skip  out  myself. 
Perhaps  some  of  these  days  you'll  read  a  little  para 
graph  in  the  morning  paper, — -'Mysterious  Disappear 
ance  of  a  Well-known  Young  Society  Woman.'  Wouldn't 
that  be  original  ?  Just  to  drop  out  of  everything  and 
take  to  the  road ! " 

"  What  would  you  do  ?  " 

"Anything,  everything  —  make  a  living.  Don't  you 
think  I  could  do  that  ?  "  She  embroidered  this  theme 
fancifully  for  a  time  and  then  lapsed  into  silence.  Fi 
nally  she  burst  forth  again :  "  Good  Lord,  why  can't  we 
get  hold  of  life  before  it's  too  late?  It's  going  on  all 
around  us,  —  big,  and  rich,  and  full  of  blood.  And  folks 
like  you  and  me  sit  on  the  bank,  eating  a  picnic  lunch." 

"Perhaps,"  mused  Helen,  "  it  would  be  different  if  one 
had  to  earn  the  lunch." 

"Who  knows?  Will  you  try  it?  Will  you  cut 
loose  from  Jackie  ?  " 

A  rather  sad  smile  crossed  the  older  woman's  face, 
and  Venetia  seizing  her  arm  impulsively  gave  it  a 
little  squeeze.  Just  then  Coburn  strolled  into  the  room 
with  the  boys,  whom  he  had  found  in  the  corridor,  and 
nodding  abruptly  toward  Helen,  stood  before  the  plans, 
studyirig  them  with  his  sharp,  black  eyes.  His  little 
ironical  smile  hung  on  his  parted  lips.  Turning  to 
Venetia,  he  said  good-humoredly :  — 

"  Thinks  he's  doing  something,  don't  he,  Venetia  ?  " 


THE   COMMON   LOT  267 

Helen  rose  and  called  the  boys. 

"  A  building  is  just  four  walls  and  a  roof  to  me,"  he 
continued,  addressing  Helen.  "But  Jack  Hart  seems 
to  have  got  what  he  wanted  —  that's  the  chief  thing, 
ain't  it?" 

Helen  nodded,  and  they  left  the  room  without  looking 
again  at  the  plans.  As  they  descended  the  broad  flight 
of  steps  to  the  street,  Venetia  laid  her  hand  on  Helen's 
arm. 

"Tell  Jack  we  are  all  proud  of  him.  Mamma  brags 
of  him  daily.  And  look  out  for  the  paragraph  in  the 
paper.  They'd  give  me  a  paragraph,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

The  winter  twilight  had  descended  upon  the  murky 
city,  rilling  the  long  vistas  of  the  cross  streets  with  a 
veil  of  mystery.  But  the  roar  of  the  place  mounted  to 
the  clouds  above,  which  seemed  to  reverberate  with  the 
respirations  of  the  Titan  beneath.  Here,  in  the  heart  of 
the  city,  life  clamored  with  a  more  direct  note  than  in 
any  other  spot  in  the  world.  Men  were  struggling  fiercely 
for  their  desires,  and  their  cries  ascended  to  the  dull 
heavens. 

Helen  walked  home  with  the  boys,  soothed  by  the 
human  contact  of  the  streets.  There  was  something 
exhilarating  to  her  in  the  jostle  of  the  throng,  —  the 
men  and  women  leaving  their  labors,  bent  homeward 
for  the  night.  Her  heart  expanded  near  them  —  those 
who  won  their  daily  bread  by  the  toil  of  the  day. 

It  was  in  part  true,  what  the  widow  had  said.  For  it 
was  she  who  had  willed  to  return  to  the  city  from  the 


268  THE   COMMON   LOT 

pleasant  niche  where  she  had  spent  her  married  life, 
desiring  in  the  growing  emptiness  of  her  heart  to  get 
closer  to  the  vast  life  of  a  human  people,  to  feel  once 
more  the  common  lot  of  man.  So  she  had  taken  the 
little  house  on  Scott  Street,  and  reduced  their  living  to 
the  simplest  scale,  declaring  that  she  wanted  her  time 
for  herself  and  her  children.  Her  husband  was  so  busy 
that  as  yet  he  hardly  noticed  any  change  in  her.  They 
went  out  less  than  they  had  gone  in  previous  years,  and 
sometimes  he  thought  the  people  he  found  calling  on  his 
wife  were  "  queer."  Her  interest  in  a  new  kind  of  edu 
cation  for  the  children  bored  him.  She  seemed  to  be 
going  her  own  way  without  thought  of  him,  and  now 
and  then  he  wondered  what  it  meant.  He  did  not  like 
aggressive,  faddish  persons ;  he  wanted  women  to  be  per 
sonal  and  sympathetic,  with  a  touch  of  "  style,"  social 
tact,  and  a  little  dash. 

To-night  he  had  come  from  his  office  early,  and  while 
he  waited  for  Helen  he  looked  about  the  little  drawing- 
room  disapprovingly,  with  a  sense  of  aggrieved  discom 
fort.  Helen  was  taking  to  economy  and  simplicity  alto 
gether  too  seriously  to  please  him.  To  be  sure,  she  made 
no  objection  to  his  keeping  his  hunters  at  the  Shoreham 
Club,  or  his  polo-playing,  or  other  expensive  diversions. 

In  a  vague  way  he  was  aware  of  the  subtle  separa 
tion  of  soul  that  existed  between  them.  He  looked  at 
his  wife  closely  when  she  came  in  with  the  boys.  She 
seemed  older,  more  severe  in  face  than  he  had  thought, 
than  her  photograph  on  his  office  desk  said.  When 
this  school  business  was  done  with,  he  reflected,  they 


THE   COMMON   LOT  269 

must  run  over  to  Europe  for  a  few  months'  vacation, 
get  shaken  up,  and  then  live  differently  on  their 
return.  .  .  . 

"  Nell,"  he  said  to  her,  when  they  were  alone,  "  it's  set 
tled  at  last,  you  will  be  glad  to  know,  everything.  We 
let  the  contracts  to-day." 

"For  the  school?"  she  asked  indifferently.  "You 
must  be  relieved  to  have  it  off  your  mind." 

Her  lips,  which  curved  so  tenderly,  had  grown  strangely 
firm.  He  put  his  arm  over  her  shoulder  and  drew  her 
toward  him. 

"  Yes,  it's  a  great  relief.  I  thought  at  one  time  Pem- 
berton  would  make  them  throw  the  whole  thing  up  and 
start  again.  But  the  others  had  more  sense.  Well, 
when  the  building  is  finished,  we  must  have  a  spree, 
and  get  to  be  lovers  once  more." 

"  Yes,  dear.  This  afternoon  I've  been  to  the  Institute 
with  the  boys  to  let  them  see  the  plans." 

"  They  are  well  spoken  of.  I  saw  Wright  to-day  for  a 
moment.  He  stopped  to  congratulate  me,  but  I  couldn't 
tell  what  he  really  thought.  Well,  after  all  the  trouble 
with  them,  I  got  pretty  much  what  I  wanted,  thanks  to 
Everett  and  the  doctor.  Everett's  been  a  good  friend 
all  through.  The  idea  of  their  kicking  so  hard  because 
the  thing  was  going  to  cost  a  little  more  than  they  had 
made  up  their  minds  to  spend  on  the  building!  Pem- 
berton  thinks  he  knows  all  about  architecture.  It's  a 
pity  he  couldn't  have  drawn  the  plans  himself." 

"  But  you  saved  your  design.  There  were  only  a  few 
changes,  I  thought." 


270  THE  COMMON   LOT 

"  Yes,  I've  won  the  second  round  all  right." 

In  his  joy  over  the  thought  he  put  his  strong  arma 
about  his  wife  and  lifted  her  bodily  from  the  floor,  as  he 
iad  often  done,  boyishly,  in  the  years  before.  Holding 
her  close  to  him  he  kissed  her  lips  and  neck.  She  re 
turned  his  kisses,  but  the  touch  of  her  lips  was  cool. 
She  seemed  limp  in  his  arms,  and  he  felt  vaguely  the 
want  of  something.  She  was  less  loving,  less  passionate 
than  ever  before.  He  missed  the  abandon,  the  utter 
self-forgetfulness,  the  rush  of  ecstatic  emotion,  which 
from  the  first  moment  of  their  love  had  made  her  for 
him  all  woman,  the  woman  of  women.  .  .  .  He  let  her 
slip  from  his  embrace  and  looked  at  her.  Was  it  age  ? 
Was  it  the  penalty  of  living,  which  dampens  the  fire  of 
passion  and  dulls  desire  ?  He  was  troubled,  distressed 
for  the  loss  of  something  precious  that  was  getting  be 
yond  his  reach,  perhaps  had  gone  forever. 

"  Oh ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  It's  bad  to  be  always  on  the 
dead  push.  Come !  Let's  go  out  somewhere  and  have 
dinner  and  a  bottle  of  champagne  the  way  we  used  to." 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  unwilling  to  disappoint  him. 

"  I  can't  very  well  to-night,  Francis.  I  promised  Mor 
ton  Carr  I  should  be  home  this  evening.  He  wants  me 
to  help  him  raise  some  money  for  his  new  building,  and 
we  were  to  discuss  it." 

"  Oh  !  "  he  said,  his  egotism  subtly  wounded.  "  I  re 
member  you  said  something  about  it." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

LATE  in  March  the  corner-stone  for  the  Jackson  Insti 
tute  was  laid.  It  was  a  desolate  winterish  day,  and  the 
prairie  wind  chilled  to  the  bone  the  little  group  of  inter 
ested  people  seated  on  the  platform  erected  for  the  occa 
sion.  There  were  brief  speeches  by  Judge  Phillips  and 
Dr.  Everest,  and  an  address  by  a  celebrated  college 
president  on  the  "  new  education."  To  Helen,  who  sat 
just  behind  him  in  sight  of  the  piles  of  excavated  sand 
and  the  dirty  brick  walls  of  the  neighboring  stores,  the 
scene  was  scarcely  in  harmony  with  the  orator's  glowing 
generalizations.  "  The  mighty  energies  of  this  industrial 
cosmopolis  will  now  respond  to  the  higher  call  of  man's 
ideals.  ...  On  industry  rests  thrift,  and  on  thrift  must 
rest  all  education."  As  the  neat  periods  slipped  forth, 
Cook,  who  was  standing  by  the  mason's  windlass,  caught 
Helen's  eye  and  smiled.  He  looked  brisk  and  happy, 
and  she  could  fancy  him  calling  out :  "  Hey  !  What  does 
the  guy  know  about  industry  ?  But  ain't  this  the  best 
yet  ?  F.  J.  Hart  is  all  right ! " 

The  architect,  smartly  dressed  for  the  occasion  in  a 
new  frock  coat  and  shining  silk  hat,  stepped  forward 
at  the  proper  moment,  dusted  the  upper  surface  of  the 
great  stone  with  a  brush,  and  handed  the  judge  a  ail- 

271 


272  THE  COMMON  LOT 

ver  trowel.  Cook  pushed  up  to  them  a  bucket  of  mor 
tar,  into  which  the  old  man  thrust  the  trowel,  and 
tremblingly  bespattered  the  stone.  Then  the  windlass 
creaked,  and  down  came  the  massive  block  of  Indiana 
limestone,  covering  the  recess  into  which  had  been  stuffed 
some  records  of  the  present  day.  Then  the  architect 
and  Cook  busied  themselves  adjusting  the  block,  while 
the  judge  stepped  backward  to  his  seat,  a  look  of  relief 
coming  over  his  red  face,  as  if  he  felt  that  he  had 
virtually  executed  the  trust  left  him  by  his  old 
friend. 

As  the  gathering  dispersed,  Helen's  eyes  fell  upon  a 
great  wooden  sign  surmounting  the  workmen's  shed: 
THE  GRAVES  CONSTRUCTION  COMPANY  —  GENERAL  CON 
TRACTORS  —  CHICAGO  AND  NEW  YORK. 

So  this  was  the  company  that  had  finally  secured  the 
general  contract  for  the  building.  As  Helen  knew,  there 
had  been  vexatious  delays  over  the  bids.  The  first 
figures  had  been  very  much  in  excess  of  the  sum  the 
trustees  had  intended  to  spend  upon  the  building.  They 
had  forced  the  architect  to  modify  his  plans  somewhat 
and  to  ask  for  new  bids.  Pemberton  had  been  especially 
obstinate,  and  Hart  had  grumbled  about  him  to  his 
wife :  — 

"  Why  does  the  old  duffer  chew  the  rag  over  a 
couple  of  hundred  thousand,  when  they  have  over  three 
millions,  anyway  ?  It  doesn't  come  out  of  his  pocket !  " 

At  last,  after  some  wrangling,  the  trustees  had  accepted 
the  lowest  bid,  though  it  was  still  considerably  beyond 
the  figure  they  had  set.  Hart  regarded  it  as  a  triumph : 


THE   COMMON   LOT  273 

he  had  saved  substantially  the  integrity  of  his  design, 
and  the  Graves  Company  got  the  contract. 

Now  all  was  serene.  From  the  hour  that  the  contract 
was  signed,  the  building  rose  from  nothingness  by  leaps 
and  bounds.  Graves  was  always  rapid  in  his  operations, 
and  for  this  building  he  seemed  to  have  made  every  prep 
aration  beforehand.  The  labor  situation,  which  was  still 
unsettled,  caused  him  no  delay.  His  rivals  said  that  he 
had  the  leaders  in  the  unions  on  his  pay-rolls,  and  could 
build  when  other  contractors  were  tied  up  by  strikes. 
Other  firms  could  not  get  their  steel  from  the  mills  for 
months,  but  Graves  had  some  mysterious  way  of  secur 
ing  his  material  when  he  wanted  it.  The  day  after  the 
corner-stone  was  laid  he  had  an  army  of  men  at  work ; 
early  in  June  the  walls  were  up  to  the  roof  trusses  ;  by 
the  end  of  July  the  great  edifice  was  completely  roofed 
in,  and  the  plasterers  were  at  work. 

The  contracts  once  signed,  the  judge  and  Wheeler 
seemed  to  regard  that  their  responsibilities  were  over. 
Hollister,  who  had  been  in  poor  health  latterly,  had  gone 
to  Europe.  But  Pemberton  was  the  bane  of  the  archi 
tect's  life.  He  visited  Hart's  office  almost  daily,  looked 
carefully  at  every  voucher  before  ordering  it  paid,  and 
spent  long  afternoons  at  the  works.  He  examined  the 
building  from  foundation  to  roof  with  his  thrifty  New 
England  eye,  and  let  no  detail  escape  him,  stickling  over 
unimportant  trifles,  and  delaying  the  numerous  orders  for 
extras  or  alterations.  The  whole  operation  of  modern 
building  was  an  unknown  language  to  him.  He  knew  that 
he  was  ignorant  of  what  was  going  on  before  his  eyes, 


274  THE  COMMON   LOT 

and  his  helplessness  made  him  improperly  suspicious 
of  the  architect  and  the  contractor.  Many  a  time  he 
strained  Hart's  habitual  tact.  They  nearly  came  to  blows 
over  some  window  frames,  which  the  architect  had  seen 
fit  to  alter  without  consulting  the  building  committee. 

One  morning  Hart  found  Pemberton  at  the  school  in 
company  with  a  stranger,  who  made  notes  in  a  little 
memorandum  book.  The  trustee  nodded  curtly  to  the 
architect,  and,  as  he  was  preparing  to  leave,  remarked 
casually :  — 

"  This  is  Mr.  Trimble,  Mr.  Hart.  Mr.  Trimble  is  an 
engineer,  who  has  been  in  my  employ  from  time  to  time. 
He  will  look  through  the  works  and  make  a  report.  Mr. 
Trimble  will  not  interfere  with  you  in  any  way,  Mr. 
Hart.  He  will  report  to  me." 

The  architect's  face  grew  white  with  suppressed  rage, 
and  his  lips  trembled  as  he  answered :  — 

"  What  is  your  reason  for  taking  this  step1,  Mr.  Pem 
berton  ?  When  I  was  given  the  commission,  nothing 
was  said  about  having  a  superintendent.  If  there  is  to 
be  one,  he  should  report  to  me.  As  you  know  quite  well, 
I  have  devoted  my  entire  time  to  this  building,  and  given 
up  other  work  in  order  that  I  might  be  out  here  every 
day.  I  shall  speak  to  the  other  trustees  about  this,  and 
I'll  not  stand  the  insult,  Mr.  Pemberton !  " 

"  Tut,  tut,  no  insult,  Mr.  Hart.  You  must  know  that 
it's  quite  usual  in  work  of  this  magnitude  for  the  owners 
to  have  their  representative  at  the  works.  There  will  be 
no  interference  with  you  or  the  contractor,  if  the  building 
goes  right." 


THE  COMMON  LOT  275 

The  architect  swallowed  his  anger  for  the  time,  merely 
answering  sulkily :  "  Mr.  Graves  will  take  no  orders  ex 
cept  from  me,  of  course.  The  contracts  are  so  drawn." 

"  What's  that ! "  Pemberton  exclaimed.  "  I  hope  there 
will  be  no  occasion  to  alter  that  arrangement." 

The  architect  bowed  and  left  the  building. 

"  Snarling,  prying  old  fogy,"  he  spluttered  to  his  wife, 
who  was  waiting  outside  in  the  automobile.  "  Let  him 
put  in  his  superintendent.  I  guess  we  can  give  him  a 
run  for  his  money." 

The  woman's  heart  sank.  Somehow  this  school,  this 
bit  of  great-hearted  idealism  on  the  part  of  the  old  man 
she  loved,  had  thus  far  stirred  up  a  deal  of  mud. 

Pemberton  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  discuss  with 
the  architect  his  reasons  for  engaging  Mr.  Trimble  as 
superintendent,  but  he  had  what  seemed  to  him  sufficient 
cause  to  look  into  the  building  more  thoroughly  than  he 
was  able  to  himself.  After  the  contract  had  been  let, 
the  trustees  had  received  a  number  of  anonymous  letters, 
which  made  charges  that  all  had  not  been  square  in  get 
ting  the  bids  for  the  building.  These  letters  had  gone 
into  the  waste  basket,  as  mere  cowardly  attacks  from 
some  disgruntled  contractor.  Then,  one  day  while  the 
building  was  still  in  the  rough,  and  the  tile  was  going 
in,  Pemberton  overheard  one  of  the  laborers  say  to  his 
mate :  — 

*  Look  at  that  stuff,  now.  It  ain't  no  good  at  all,"  and 
the  man  gave  the  big  yellow  tile  a  kick  with  his  foot ; 
"  it's  nothin'  but  dust.  Them's  rotten  bad  tiles,  I  tell  yer." 


276  THE  COMMON  LOT 

And  the  other  Paddy  answered  reflectively,  scratching 
iis  elbow  the  while :  — 

"  It'll  go  all  the  same.  Sure,  it's  more  money  in  his 
pocket.  Ain't  that  so,  boss  ?  " 

He  appealed  to  Pemberton,  whom  he  took  for  one  of 
the  passers-by  gaping  idly  at  the  building. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  the  trustee  demanded  sharply. 

"  Mane  ?  The  less  you  pay  the  more  you  git  in  this 
wurld ! " 

"  Hist,  you  f ule,"  the  other  one  warned,  twisting  his 
head  in  the  direction  of  the  boss  mason,  who  was  not  far 
away. 

Pemberton  was  not  the  man  to  take  much  thought  of  a 
laborer's  idle  talk.  But  the  words  remained  in  his  mind, 
and  a  few  weeks  later,  happening  to  meet  the  superin 
tendent  of  a  large  construction  company  in  the  smoking- 
car  of  the  Forest  Park  train,  he  asked  the  man  some 
questions  about  fireproof  building. 

"Why  did  your  people  refuse  to  bid  the  second  time?" 
he  inquired  finally. 

"  They  saw  it  was  just  a  waste  of  time  and  money," 
the  man  replied  frankly. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"Why,  the  job  was  slated  for  Graves  —  that  was  all. 
It  was  clear  enough  to  us.  There's  mighty  little  that 
goes  out  of  that  office  except  to  Graves." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  I  asked  Mr.  Hart  particularly  to  have 
your  company  bid  on  the  contracts." 

Then  the  man  became  confidential,  and  explained  how 
a  certain  ambiguity  in  the  wording  of  the  specifications 


THE   COMMON   LOT  277 

made  it  risky  for  a  contractor  to  bid  unless  he  knew  just 
how  the  architect  would  treat  him;  for  the  contractor 
might  easily  "  get  stuck  "  for  much  more  than  the  possi 
ble  profits,  though  bidding  in  perfect  good  faith.  The 
man  was  willing  enough  to  talk,  once  started  on  the  sub 
ject,  and  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour  he  explained 
to  the  layman  some  of  the  chicanery  of  the  building 
business. 

"  So  you  see,  Mr.  Pemberton,  the  contractor,  to  protect 
himself  when  he  doesn't  know  his  man,  bids  pretty  high, 
and  then  the  favored  contractor  can  safely  go  a  good  bit 
lower.  He  has  an  understanding  with  the  architect, 
maybe,  and  it  all  depends  on  how  the  specifications  are 
going  to  be  interpreted." 

And  he  told  other  things,  —  how  some  of  the  firms 
who  had  bid  had  since  got  parts  of  the  general  contract 
from  the  Graves  Company,  but  with  an  altered  set  of 
specifications. 

"It's  queer,"  he  ended  finally.  "We  can't  see  how 
they'll  make  a  cent  on  the  contract  unless  Graves  is 
goin'  to  rot  it  clear  through." 

He  explained  what  he  meant  by  "rotting"  it,  —  the 
use  of  cheap  grades  of  materials  and  inferior  labor,  from 
the  foundation  stones  to  the  cornice.  In  other  words, 
the  building  would  be  a  "job." 

"  For  those  specifications  called  for  a  first-class  build 
ing,  and  no  mistake,  —  awful  heavy  steel  work,  and 
cabinet  finish,  and  all  that.  If  it's  built  according  to 
specification,  you're  going  to  have  a  first-class  school  all 
right." 


278  THE   COMMON   LOT 

The  result  of  this  chance  conversation  was  that  after 
consultation  with  Judge  Phillips,  Pemberton  sent  to 
Boston  for  the  engineer  Trimble,  whom  he  knew  to  be 
absolutely  honest  and  capable. 

When  Hart  left  Pemberton,  he  went  directly  to 
Wheeler's  office  and  exploded  to  his  cousin.  His  anger 
at  the  affront  offered  to  him  had  entirely  hidden  the 
thought  of  the  disagreeable  complications  that  might 
follow.  He  took  a  high  stand  with  Wheeler  about  the 
trustees'  lack  of  confidence  in  him.  But  the  cool  lawyer, 
after  hearing  his  remonstrances,  said  placidly :  • — 

"  If  Pemberton  wants  this  man  Trimble  to  go  over  the 
building,  I  don't  see  how  you  can  prevent  it.  And  I 
don't  see  the  harm  in  it  myself.  I  suppose  everything  is 
all  right.  See  that  it  is,  —  that's  your  business.  Pem 
berton  would  be  a  bad  man  to  deal  with  if  he  found  any 
crooked  work.  You'd  better  look  sharp  after  that  fellow 
Graves." 

The  architect  assured  his  cousin  that  there  was  no 
need  to  worry  on  that  score.  But  he  began  to  realize  the 
dangers  ahead,  and  felt  a  degree  of  comfort  in  the  fact 
that  Graves  had  only  that  week  paid  him  in  cash  for  the 
second  block  of  his  Glenmore  hotel  "  stock."  With  the 
previous  payment  he  had  now  thirty-five  thousand 
dollars  lying  in  his  bank,  and  a  large  payment  on  the 
commission  for  the  school  would  soon  be  due  him. 

Trouble  was  not  long  in  coming.  Trimble,  who  was 
a  quiet  little  man,  and  looked  like  a  bookseller's  clerk, 
was  waiting  for  Hart  one  morning  at  the  office  of  the 


THE   COMMON   LOT  279 

works.  He  made  some  pointed  inquiries  about  the 
plumbing  specifications.  There  seemed  to  be  important 
discrepancies  between  the  copy  of  the  specifications  at 
the  works  and  the  copy  which  Pemberton  had  given  him 
from  the  office  of  the  trustees. 

"  Yes,  a  good  many  changes  were  authorized.  There 
were  good  reasons  for  making  them,"  Hart  responded 
gruffly. 

The  little  man  made  no  remarks ;  he  seemed  to  have 
inquired  out  of  curiosity.  Then  he  asked  questions 
about  some  blue-prints  which  did  not  correspond  with 
the  written  specifications,  explaining  that  he  had  gone  to 
the  mill  where  the  interior  finish  was  being  turned  out 
and  had  found  other  discrepancies  in  the  details  pre 
pared  for  the  woodwork.  Hart  answered  indifferently 
that  he  would  find  a  good  many  such  changes,  as  was 
customary  in  all  buildings.  At  this  point  Graves 
arrived;  he  came  into  the  little  shanty  and  looked 
Trimble  over  without  speaking.  After  the  engineer  had 
left,  Graves  turned  to  the  architect,  an  ugly  frown  on  his 
heavy  face : — 

"Say,  is  that  little  cuss  goin'  to  make  trouble 
here  ?  " 

Hart  explained  briefly  what  had  happened. 

"  Do  you  think  we  could  fix  him  ? "  the  contractor 
asked  without  further  comment. 

The  architect  noticed  the  "  we  "  and  sulked. 

"  I  guess  you'd  better  not  try.  He  doesn't  look  like 
the  kind  you  could  fix.  It's  just  as  well  that  most  of  the 
work  is  done,  for  it  seems  to  me  he  means  trouble." 


280  THE   COMMON  LOT 

"  All  the  finish  and  decoratin'  is  comin',  ain't  it  ?  "  the 
contractor  growled.  "  I  tell  you  what,  if  he  holds  up  the 
mill  work,  and  keeps  fussin'  round,  there'll  be  more  than 
one  kind  of  trouble.  I  won't  stand  no  nonsense  from 
your  damned  trustees."  He  swore  out  his  disgust  and 
fumed,  until  Hart  said :  — 

"  Well,  you'll  have  to  do  the  best  you  can.  And  I'll 
try  to  keep  the  trustees  quiet." 

The  Glenmore  hotel  was  going  up  rapidly,  and  he 
thought  of  the  twenty  thousand  dollars  which  would  be 
coming  to  him  on  the  completion  of  that  building  —  if 
all  went  well.  But  if  there  should  be  a  row,  there  would 
be  no  further  profits  for  him  on  the  hotel. 

"  The  best  I  can ! "  Graves  broke  forth.  "  I  guess 
you'll  have  to  take  care  of  them.  You'd  better  see  your 
cousin  and  get  him  to  call  this  feller  off,  or  there'll  be 
trouble." 

"  I  have  seen  Wheeler,"  the  architect  admitted. 

"  Well,"  the  contractor  blustered,  "  if  they  want  a  fight, 
let  'em  come  on.  There'll  be  a  strike  on  this  building  in 
twenty-four  hours,  I  can  tell  you,  and  then  it'll  be  years 
before  they  can  get  their  school  opened." 

With  this  threat  the  contractor  left  the  office,  and 
Hart  went  over  to  the  great  building,  which  had  become 
a  thorn  in  his  flesh  these  last  weeks.  It  was  not  a  bad 
piece  of  work,  after  all,  as  Chicago  building  was  done,  he 
reflected.  Even  if  Graves  had  cut  the  work  in  places, 
and  had  made  too  much  money  on  the  steel,  the  stone, 
and  here  and  there  all  over,  the  edifice  would  answer  its 
purpose  well  enough,  and  the  architect  had  no  special 


THE   COMMON  LOT  281 

interest  in  the  everlasting  qualities  of  his  structures. 
Nothing  was  built  to  stand  for  more  than  a  generation  in 
this  city.  Life  moved  too  swiftly  for  that. 

For  several  weeks,  as  the  end  of  August  came  near, 
there  was  a  lull,  while  Pemberton  was  in  the  East  on  his 
vacation.  The  work  on  the  school  went  forward  as  be 
fore;  even  the  irritation  of  seeing  Trimble's  face  was 
removed,  for  he  had  ceased  to  visit  the  works.  Then,  the 
first  week  in  September,  the  storm  burst.  There  came  to 
the  architect's  office  a  peremptory  summons  to  meet  the 
trustees  the  next  afternoon. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

POWERS  JACKSON  had  given  the  old  Jackson  home 
stead  and  farm  at  Vernon  Falls  in  Vermont  to  Helen, 
and  with  it  a  small  legacy  of  twelve  thousand  dollars 
"as  a  maintenance  fund."  She  had  opened  the  house 
but  once  or  twice  since  her  marriage,  because  Jackson 
was  always  too  busy  to  take  a  long  vacation,  and  she  did 
not  like  to  leave  him.  Latterly  she  had  thought  about 
the  old  man's  gift  a  good  deal,  and  there  had  been  some 
talk  of  her  spending  the  summer  in  Vernon  Falls  with 
the  children  and  her  mother.  Instead  of  this  they  had 
gone  to  the  Shoreham  Club  for  a  few  weeks  in  August, 
putting  off  the  journey  East  till  the  fall. 

She  had  never  touched  the  legacy,  leaving  it  in  Everett 
Wheeler's  hands,  securely  invested,  and  had  paid  what 
was  needed  to  maintain  the  old  place  from  her  allowance. 
Now,  however,  a  number  of  repairs  on  the  buildings  had 
accumulated,  and  it  occurred  to  her  one  day,  when  she 
was  in  the  city,  to  find  out  from  Wheeler  how  much 
surplus  she  had  at  her  disposal.  They  had  joked  a  good 
deal  about  her  estate,  and  the  lawyer  had  scolded  her  for 
not  coming  to  his  office  to  examine  the  papers  and  see 
what  he  was  doing  with  her  money. 

282 


THE  COMMON   LOT  283. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  she  had  finished 
other,  more  urgent  errands,  and,  turning  into  the  lofty 
La  Salle  Street  building,  was  whirled  up  to  the  twelfth 
floor.  The  middle-aged  stenographer  in  Wheeler's  office 
looked  up  on  her  entrance,  and  said  that  the  lawyer  had 
not  left,  but  was  engaged  with  some  gentlemen.  Would 
she  wait?  She  sat  down  in  the  quiet,  carpeted  outer 
office,  from  which  radiated  several  small  offices.  The 
doors  of  all  these  rooms  were  open  except  one,  and 
through  the  ground-glass  panel  in  this  door  she  could  see 
the  dark  forms  of  several  men.  Presently  the  stenog 
rapher  pushed  her  papers  into  the  drawer  of  her  desk, 
and  fetched  her  hat  and  coat. 

"  I  think  they  must  be  'most  through,"  she  remarked 
pleasantly.  "  You  go  right  in  when  they  come  out." 

Then  she  gathered  up  her  gloves  and  left.  Little 
noise  came  from  the  hall,  except  the  occasional  sliding 
back  and  forth  of  elevator  gates.  The  vast  hive  seemed 
to  be  deserted  at  this  hour,  and  few  places  in  the  city 
were  so  quiet  and  lonesome  as  this  sober  law  office.  The 
murmur  of  voices  in  the  inner  room  was  the  only  sound 
of  life.  Gradually  the  voices  grew  louder,  but  Helen 
paid  no  attention  to  them  until  a  man's  voice,  clear  and 
shrill  with  exasperation,  penetrated  distinctly  to  the 
outer  office. 

"  No,  Wheeler ! "  the  man  almost  shouted.  t{  We 
won't  compromise  this.  I  won't  have  it  covered  up  or 
whitewashed.  We'll  go  to  the  bottom,  here  and  now. 
Let  us  find  out  what  all  this  double-dealing  means.  Let 
US  know,  now,  whether  the  work  on  that  building  is  being 


284  THE   COMMON   LOT 

done  honestly  or  not,  and  whether  our  architect  is  work 
ing  for  us  or  for  the  contractor  against  us." 

It  was  Pemberton's  voice,  and  Helen  recognized  it. 
From  the  first  words  she  had  grasped  the  arms  of  her 
chair  —  a  sudden  clutch  at  her  heart.  She  held  herself 
rigid,  while  behind  the  door  a  confused  murmur  of  men 
all  talking  at  once  drowned  Pemberton's  voice.  She 
tried  to  think  whether  she  ought  to  leave  the  office,  but 
her  strength  had  gone,  and  she  trembled  in  her  chair. 
Presently  Pemberton's  high  voice  rang  out  again  :  — 

"  No,  sir !  We've  given  you  this  opportunity  to  explain 
your  conduct  and  clear  yourself.  You  haven't  done  it, 
sir!  You  try  to  bluster  it  through.  There  is  something 
wrong  in  this  business,  and  we  shall  find  out  what  it  is. 
Not  another  dollar  will  be  paid  out  on  your  vouchers 
until  our  experts  have  gone  through  all  the  papers  and 
examined  every  foot  of  the  construction  so  far  done.  No, 
Wheeler,  I  will  resign  if  you  like.  You  asked  me  to 
join  you.  I  was  glad  to  do  so.  I  considered  it  an  honor 
and  a  duty,  and  I  have  made  sacrifices  for  this  trust. 
But  if  I  stay  on  the  board,  this  thing  must  be  cleared 
up!" 

Another  high  and  angry  voice  answered  this  time :  — • 

"  You'd  better  not  make  loose  charges,  Mr.  Pemberton, 
until  you  are  in  a  position  to  prove  what  you  say.  I 
won't  stand  your  talk  ;  I  don't  propose  to  stay  here  and 
let  you  bully  me  —  I'm.  going !  " 

Helen  recognized  her  husband's  voice,  and  she  got  to 
her  feet,  still  clutching  the  chair.  Then  she  stepped  for 
ward  unsteadily  toward  the  inner  office.  The  handle  of 


THE   COMMON   LOT  285 

the  door  moved  a  little,  and  against  the  glass  panel  the 
form  of  a  man  stood  out  sharply. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  Sue  Graves  ? 
Or  sue  me  ?  You  can  discharge  me  if  you  like.  But  I 
am  your  agent  and  have  full  powers.  Remember  that ! 
That's  the  way  the  contract  is  drawn.  And  if  I  back  up 
Graves,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  He's  got 
your  agent's  signature  for  what  he's  done.  .  .  .  You'd 
better  hold  your  temper  and  talk  sense."  .  .  . 

"  Don't  threaten  me,  sir !  "  Pemberton  retorted.  "  I 
have  all  the  proof  I  want  that  you  are  a  rascal,  that  you 
have  entered  into  a  conspiracy  with  this  man  Graves  to 
swindle."  .  .  . 

There  were  sounds  of  a  scuffle  within  the  office,  —  the 
noise  of  falling  chairs,  the  voices  of  excited  men.  Above 
all  the  clamor  rose  the  cool  tones  of  Wheeler :  — 

"  Come,  come,  gentlemen !     This  is  not  business." 

As  he  spoke,  a  weight  fell  against  the  door  from  the 
outside.  The  man  nearest  the  outer  office,  who  hap 
pened  to  be  Judge  Phillips,  opened  the  door,  and 
Helen  fell,  rather  than  walked,  into  the  room,  her  face 
white,  her  hands  stretched  before  her. 

"  Francis  !  Francis  !  "  she  called. 

It  was  not  her  husband,  however,  who  sprang  to  her 
aid.  He  was  too  startled  to  move.  Wheeler,  who  was 
leaning  against  his  desk  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
leaped  forward,  caught  her,  and  carried  her  from  the 
room. 

"Nell,  Nell  I"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "Why  did 
you  come  here  1 " 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

HUSBAND  and  wife  did  not  speak  while  they  were 
being  driven  across  the  city  to  their  home.  That  which 
lay  between  them  was  too  heavy  to  be  touched  upon  at 
once  in  words.  Several  times  the  architect  glanced  fear 
fully  at  his  wife.  She  rested  limply  on  the  carriage 
cushion,  with  closed  eyes,  and  occasionally  a  convulsive 
tremor  twitched  her  body.  The  summer  heat,  which  had 
raged  untempered  for  weeks,  had  already  sapped  her 
usual  strength,  and  now  her  face  had  a  bloodless  pallor 
that  made  the  man  wince  miserably.  When  the  cab 
stopped  at  the  North  Side  bridge,  where  a  burly  vessel 
was  being  pulled  through  the  draw,  Helen  opened  her 
eyes  languidly ;  once  or  twice  she  sought  her  husband's 
face,  which  was  turned  blankly  toward  the  crowded  street. 
Her  lips  moved,  and  then  she  closed  her  eyes  again.  As 
they  got  out  of  the  cab,  a  neighbor  who  was  passing 
spoke  to  them  and  made  a  little  joke,  to  which  Jackson 
replied  pleasantly,  with  perfect  self-control.  The  woman 
leaning  on  his  arm  shivered,  as  if  a  fresh  chill  had  seized 
her. 

The  children  were  spending  the  month  in  Wisconsin 
with  Jackson's  mother,  and  so  the  two  sat  down  to  a 
silent  dinner.  When  the  maid  had  come  and  gone  for 

286 


THE   COMMON  LOT  287 

the  last  time,  Hart  looked  furtively  across  the  table  to 
his  wife  and  said  gently  :  — 

"  Won't  you  go  upstairs,  Nell  ?  You  don't  look  able 
to  sit  up." 

She  shook  her  head  and  tried  to  speak,  but  her  voice 
was  gone.  Finally  she  whispered :  — 

"  Francis,  you  must  tell  me  all  about  it,  —  every 
thing  ! " 

He  frowned  and  said  nothing,  until  she  repeated, 
"  Everything,  you  must  tell  me  !  "  and  then  he  replied :  — 

"  See  here,  ISTell,  you'd  better  drop  this  thing  and  not 
think  of  it  again.  That  man  Pemberton,  who  has  pes 
tered  the  life  out  of  me  all  along,  has  made  a  row.  He's 
an  ill-tempered  beast.  That's  all.  And  he'll  repent  it, 
too  !  He  can't  do  anything  to  me.  It's  a  business  quar 
rel,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  worry  over  it." 

He  was  cool  and  assured,  and  spoke  with  the  kindly 
authority  of  a  husband. 

"  No,  Francis  ! "  She  shook  her  head  wearily.  "  That 
can't  be  all.  I  must  know  what  it  is  —  I  must  help 
you." 

"You  can't  help  me,"  he  replied  calmly.  "I  have 
told  you  enough.  They  can't  do  anything.  I  don't 
want  to  go  any  further  into  that  business." 

"  I  must  know  !  "  she  cried. 

He  was  startled  at  the  new  force  in  her  voice,  the  sign 
of  a  will  erecting  itself  with  its  own  authority  against 
him. 

"  Know  what  ?  What  that  fool  Pemberton  thinks  of 
me  ?  You  heard  enough  of  that,  I  guess." 


288  THE    COMMON   LOT 

"  Don't  put  me  off !  Don't  put  me  away  from  you,  now, 
Francis !  If  we  are  to  love  each  other,  if  we  are  to  live 
together,  I  must  know  you,  all  of  you.  I  am  in  a  fog. 
There  is  something  wrong  all  about  me,  and  it  gets 
between  us  and  kills  our  love.  I  cannot  —  bear  —  it !  " 

Her  voice  broke  into  pleading,  and  ended  in  a  sob. 
But  controlling  herself  quickly,  she  added :  — 

"  Mr.  Pemberton  is  a  fair  man,  a  just  man.  But  if  he's 
wrong,  I  want  to  know  that,  too.  I  want  to  hate  him  for 
what  he  said  to  you." 

"  You  would  like  to  judge  me,  to  judge  your  husband ! " 
he  retorted  coldly.  "That  is  not  the  way  to  love.  I 
thought  you  would  believe  in  me,  all  through  to  the 
end." 

"So  I  shall  —  if  you  will  tell  me  all  the  truth.  I 
would  go  with  you  anywhere,  to  prison  if  need  be,  if  you 
would  be  open  with  me." 

"  We  needn't  talk  of  going  to  prison  yet  awhile !  "  he 
exclaimed  in  exasperation. 

He  went  to  the  sideboard,  and  pouring  himself  a  glass 
of  whiskey,  set  the  decanter  on  the  table. 

"They  can't  do  anything  but  talk,"  he  repeated. 
Then,  warmed  by  the  liquor,  he  began  to  be  more  inso 
lent,  to  speak  defiantly. 

"Pemberton's  been  after  me  from  the  start.  He 
wanted  Wright  to  get  the  work  in  the  first  place,  and 
he's  tried  to  put  every  obstacle  he  could  in  my  way.  It 
was  first  one  thing  and  then  another.  He  has  made  life 
unendurable  with  his  prying  and  his  suspicions.  But 
I  won't  stand  it  another  day.  I'm  going  to  Everett  to- 


THE  COMMON  LOT  289 

morrow  and  tell  him  that  I  shall  get  out  if  Pemberton 
is  to  interfere  with  my  orders.  And  they  can't  lay 
a  finger  on  me,  I  tell  you!  Pemberton  can  just 
talk ! " 

Helen  had  put  her  head  between  her  hands,  and  she 
was  sobbing.  Every  hot  word  that  he  spoke  drove  con 
viction  against  him  into  her  heart.  At  last  she  raised 
her  tear-stained  face  and  cried  out  with  a  new  access  of 
power :  — 

"  Stop !     Stop ! " 

Then  she  rose,  took  the  decanter  of  whiskey,  replaced 
it  on  the  sideboard,  and  seated  herself  by  his  side,  putting 
her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Francis,  if  you  care  for  me,  if  you  want  us  ever  to 
love  each  other  again,  answer  me  honestly.  Have  you 
and  that  contractor  done  anything  wrong  about  the 
school  ?  " 

"  You  can't  understand,"  he  replied  roughly,  drawing 
his  arm  from  her  touch.  "  You  are  making  a  great  deal 
out  of  your  own  imagination." 

"Answer  me!"  she  said,  in  the  same  tense  tone  of 
pure  will.  "Have  you  let  that  man  Graves  cheat  the 
trustees,  —  do  anything  dishonest,  —  and  shut  your  eyes 
to  it  ?  " 

"  Pemberton  claims  he  hasn't  lived  up  to  the  specifica 
tions,"  the  architect  admitted  sullenly. 

"  And  you  knew  it  ?  " 

"  So  he  says." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  between  them  while  the 
vision  of  this  fraud  filled  their  minds.  She  seemed  to 


290  THE   COMMON   LOT 

hesitate  before  the  evil  thing  that  she  had  raised,  and 
then  she  asked  again,  quickly :  — 

"  Have  you —  did  you  make  any  money  from  it  ?  " 

He  did  not  reply. 

"  Tell  me,  Francis  !  "  she  persisted.  "  Did  this  man 
give  you  anything  for  letting  him  —  cheat  the  trustees  ? 
Tell  me ! " 

He  was  cold  and  careless  now.  This  new  will  in  his 
wife,  unexpected,  so  totally  unlike  her  gentle,  yielding 
nature,  compelled  him  to  reveal  some  part  of  the  truth. 
In  this  last  resort  her  will  was  the  stronger.  He  said 
slowly :  — 

"If  he  got  the  school  contract,  there  was  an  under 
standing  that  he  was  to  give  me  some  stock  in  a  corpora 
tion.  It  was  involved  with  other  business." 

"  He  was  to  give  you  stock  ?  " 

"Yes;  stock  in  a  hotel  that  he's  been  building  — 
another  piece  of  work." 

"  And  he  gave  you  this  stock  ? " 

"  Some  of  it." 

"What  have  you  done  with  it?" 

"  Sold  it." 

«  You  have  sold  it  ?  " 

"  Yes.  It  was  a  kind  of  bonus  he  gave  me  for  getting 
him  the  contract  and  for  doing  the  plans  for  the  hotel, 
too." 

Further  than  that  admission  he  would  not  go,  and 
they  left  the  subject  late  at  night.  He  was  sullen  and 
hard,  and  resented  her  new  tone  of  authority  to  him ;  for 
he  had  always  counted  on  her  acquiescence  and  tender 
ness  as  his  immutable  rights. 


THE   COMMON   LOT  291 

In  the  morning  this  feeling  of  resentment  was  more 
firmly  fixed.  He  regretted  that  in  a  moment  of  weak 
ness  he  had  admitted  what  he  had  the  night  before. 
When  she  came  to  him  as  he  was  preparing  to  leave  the 
house,  and,  putting  her  hands  on  his  arms,  begged  him 
to  talk  with  her  again  before  going  to  the  office,  he  lis 
tened  moodily  and  said  that  he  was  pressed  for  time. 

"Won't  you  go  to  them,  to  the  trustees,  to  Everett, 
anyway,  and  tell  them  everything  you  know  ?  And  give 
them  that  money  — the  money  you  got  from  the  stock  ?  " 

"  That's  a  woman's  plan !  That  would  make  a  nice 
mess,  wouldn't  it  ?  I  told  you  I  got  that  as  a  bonus.  I 
have  worked  a  lot  for  this  contractor,  and  he  offered  me 
this  chance  to  make  some  money  in  one  of  his  schemes. 
It's  often  done,  something  like  that.  You'd  like  to  see 
me  get  into  trouble  —  be  disgraced  for  good  and  all  ?  " 

"That  can  make  no  difference  now,"  she  answered 
quietly.  "The  disgrace  cannot  be  helped." 

"  What  rot ! "  he  sneered.  "  You  make  me  out  a  thief 
at  once.  Suppose  you  look  at  what  some  of  your  ac 
quaintances  do,  —  the  good,  rich  people  in  this  town, 
—  and  find  out  how  they  make  their  money.  Ask 
people  how  Silas  Stewart  gets  his  rebates  from  the  rail 
roads.  Ask  any  one  about  the  way  Strauss  grades  his 
wheat." 

"  I  don't  want  to  know,"  she  interrupted  sadly.   "  That 
has  nothing  to  do  with  this  matter." 
_  He  left  her  impatiently.    They  did  not  reopen  the  sore 
that  evening,  nor  the  next  day,     Her  face  was  set  and 
stern,  with  a  kind  of  dreary  purpose  in  it,  which  made 


292  THE   COMMON   LOT 

Mm  unhappy.  He  went  out  of  the  city  on  business,  and 
did  not  return  for  several  days.  When  he  came  home  no 
mention  was  made  of  his  absence,  and  for  another  week 
they  lived  silently.  The  night  before  the  children  were 
to  return  from  their  vacation  with  their  grandmother, 
while  husband  and  wife  lay  awake,  each  troubled  by  the 
common  thought,  she  spoke  again. 

"  Francis,"  she  said  firmly,  "  we  can't  go  on  like  this. 
The  boys  are  coming  home  to-morrow.  They  mustn't  see 
us  living  this  way.  And  it's  bad  for  you,  Francis,  and 
I  can't  stand  it !  I  have  been  thinking  it  over.  I  must 
go  away  with  the  boys.  I  shall  go  to  uncle  Powers's 
house  in  Vernon  Falls." 

"  You  are  going  to  leave  me  and  take  the  children  with 
you  because  you  think  I  am  in  trouble,"  he  said  accus 
ingly. 

"You  know  that  isn't  true.  If  you  will  only  meet 
this  trouble  honorably,  like  the  man  I  loved  and  married, 
I  will  stay,  and  be  with  you  always,  no  matter  what 
comes.  Will  you  ?  " 

"  So  you  want  to  make  conditions  ?  " 

"Just  one." 

"You  had  better  go,  then." 

She  turned  her  face  to  her  pillow  and  wept  in  the 
dreary  realization  that  she  could  touch  him  in  no  way. 
The  next  day  she  telephoned  her  mother  to  come  to 
her,  and  when  Mrs.  Spellman  arrived,  she  said  quietly :  — 

"  Mother,  I  am  going  to  Vermont,  to  the  farm.  It  may 
be  for  a  long  time.  Will  you  come  with  me  and  the 
boys?" 


THE  COMMON  LOT  293 

Mrs.  Spellman,  who  was  a  wise  woman,  took  her  daugh 
ter's  face  between  her  hands  and  kissed  her. 
"  Of  course,"  she  answered  simply. 

That  day  they  made  the  necessary  preparations  for 
themselves  and  the  children.  When  the  architect  re 
turned  from  his  office  and  saw  what  was  going  forward, 
he  said  to  his  wife :  — 

"  So  you  are  determined  to  leave  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  must  go  unless  —  " 

"  I  have  seen  Everett.  They  aren't  going  to  do  any 
thing.  I  told  you  it  was  all  bluff  on  Pemberton's  part." 

She  hesitated,  uncertain  what  to  think,  and  then  she 
asked  searchingly :  — 

"  Why  aren't  they  going  to  do  anything  ?  What  does 
it  mean  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  guess  the  others  have  brought  Pemberton  to 
his  senses,"  he  replied  evasively.  "At  any  rate,  it's 
blown  over,  as  I  told  you  it  would." 

"  No,  Francis !  It  isn't  made  right  yet.  You  would 
be  different  if  it  were.  Somehow,  from  the  beginning, 
when  first  there  was  talk  of  this  school,  it  has  all  been 
wrong.  I  hate  it !  I  hate  it !  And  the  trouble  goes  back  of 
that,  too.  It  starts  from  the  very  beginning,  when  we  were 
married,  and  began  to  live  together.  We  have  always  done 
as  the  others  do  all  around  us,  and  it  is  all  wrong.  I  see 
it  now.  We  can  never  go  on  again  in  the  same  way  —  " 
„  "  What  way  ?  I  don't  understand  you  in  the  least,"  he 
interrupted. 

"  Why,  just  earning  and  spending  money,  trying  to  get 


THE  COMMON  LOT 

more  and  more,  trying  to  get  things.  It's  spoiled  your 
work ;  it's  spoiled  you ;  and  I  have  been  blind  and  weak 
to  let  us  drift  on  like  the  others,  getting  and  spending, 
struggling  to  get  ahead,  until  it  has  come  to  this,  to 
this,  —  something  dreadful  that  you  will  not  tell  me,  — 
something  base  that  you  have  done  to  make  money.  Oh, 
how  low  and  mean  it  is  !  How  mean  it  makes  men  and 
women ! " 

"That's  life,"  he  retorted  neatly. 

"  No,  no,  never !  That  wasn't  what  you  and  I  thought 
before  we  married.  I  wish  you  were  a  clerk,  a  laborer, 
a  farm-hand,  —  anything,  so  that  w*e  could  be  honest,  and 
think  of  something  besides  making  money.  Let  us  begin 
again,  from  the  very  beginning,  and  live  like  the  common 
people  from  day  to  day  —  live  for  your  work,  for  the 
thing  you  do.  Then  we  should  be  happy.  Never  this 
way,  not  if  you  make  millions,  millions ! " 

"  Well,  I  can't  see  why  you  are  set  on  going  away," 
the  architect  answered,  content  to  see  her  mind  turn  from 
the  practical  question. 

"  Tell  me ! "  she  exclaimed  passionately.  "  Tell  me  ! 
Is  it  all  right  with  that  building  ?  With  that  contractor  ? 
Are  you  honest?  Are  you  an  honest  man?  Tell  me, 
and  I  will  believe  you." 

"I  have  said  all  that  I  am  going  to  say  about  that 
matter,"  he  answered  stubbornly. 

"  Then,  Francis,  I  go  ! " 

The  next  afternoon  the  architect  met  his  family  at  the 
train  and  saw  them  start,  punctiliously  doing  all  the 
little  things  that  he  could  to  make  their  journey  comfort- 


THE   COMMON   LOT  295 

able.  He  referred  to  their  going  as  a  short  vacation  trip, 
and  joked  with  the  boys  about  the  farm.  Just  before 
the  train  started,  while  Mrs.  Spellman  settled  the  chil 
dren  in  their  section,  Helen  walked  up  and  down  the 
platform  with  him.  As  the  signal  for  starting  was  given 
she  raised  her  veil,  revealing  the  tears  in  her  eyes,  and 
leaning  toward  him  kissed  him.  She  put  into  his  hands 
a  little  card,  which  she  had  been  holding  clasped  in  her 
palm.  He  raised  his  hat  and  stood  on  the  platform 
until  the  long  train  had  pulled  out  of  the  shed.  Then 
he  glanced  at  the  card  in  his  hand,  which  read :  — 

"  I  shall  wait  for  you  to  come  to  me  when  you  really 
want  me.  H." 

He  crushed  the  card  in  his  fist  and  threw  it  into  the 
roadbed. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

As  the  architect  had  said  to  his  wife,  nothing  of  a  se 
rious  nature  was  to  happen.  In  the  end  Everett  Wheeler 
settled  the  matter.  After  the  first  gust  of  passion  it  was 
clear  enough  that  the  trustees  could  not  have  a  scandal 
about  the  building.  If  the  contractor  were  prosecuted, 
the  architect,  the  donor's  nephew,  would  be  involved; 
and,  besides,  it  was  plain  that  Wheeler  could  not  continue 
as  trustee  and  assist  in  ruining  his  cousin.  When  it 
caine  to  this  point,  Pemberton,  not  wishing  to  embarrass 
his  associates,  resigned. 

Hart  was  to  continue  nominally  as  the  architect  for 
the  school,  but  Trimble  was  to  have  actual  charge  of  the 
building  henceforth,  with  orders  to  complete  the  work  as 
soon  as  possible  according  to  the  original  specifications. 
At  first  Graves  had  blustered  and  threatened  to  sue  if 
certain  vouchers  issued  by  Hart  were  not  paid,  but 
Wheeler  "  read  the  riot  act "  to  him,  and  he  emerged 
from  the  lawyer's  office  a  subdued  and  fearful  man.  The 
calm  lawyer  had  a  long  arm,  which  reached  far  into  the 
city,  and  he  frightened  the  contractor  so  thoroughly  that 
he  was  content  to  be  allowed  to  complete  the  contract. 
Whatever  parts  of  his  work  had  been  done  crookedly,  he 
was  to  rectify  as  far  as  was  possible,  and  Trimble  was  to 

299 


300  THE   COMMON   LOT 

see  that  the  construction  which  remained  to  be  done 
came  up  to  specification.  As  for  the  irrevocable,  the 
bad  work  already  accepted  and  paid  for,  the  lawyer  said 
nothing. 

Thus  the  man  of  the  world,  the  perfectly  cynical  law 
yer,  had  his  way,  which  was,  on  the  whole,  the  least 
troublesome  way  for  all  concerned,  and  avoided  scandal. 
He  was  the  calm  one  of  the  men  involved :  it  was  his 
business  to  make  arrangements  with  human  weakness 
and  frailty  and  "  to  avoid  scandal."  That  at  all  costs  ! 

He  made  his  cousin  no  long  reproaches. 

"  We've  nipped  your  claws,  young  man,"  he  admonished 
him. 

He  was  disappointed  in  Jackson.  Privately  he  con 
sidered  him  a  dunderheaded  ass,  who  had  weakly  given 
himself  as  a  tool  to  the  contractor.  In  his  dealings  with 
men,  he  had  known  many  rascals,  more  than  the  public 
was  aware  were  rascals,  and  he  respected  some  of  them. 
But  they  were  the  men,  who,  once  having  committed  them 
selves  to  devious  ways,  used  other  men  as  their  tools.  For 
little,  foolish  rascals,  who  got  befogged  and  "lost  their 
nerve,"  he  had  only  contempt. 

"  How's  your  wife  ?  "  he  asked  bruskly.  "That  was  a 
dirty  blow  she  got  here  the  other  day —  straight  between 
the  eyes.  I  never  thought  she'd  come  in  here  that  after 
noon." 

"  Helen  has  gone  East  with  the  boys  and  her  mother, 
—  to  that  place  in  Vermont.  She  hasn't  been  feeling 
well  lately,  and  she  needs  the  rest." 

"  Oh,  um,  I  see,"  the  lawyer  commented,  comprehend- 


THE   COMMON   LOT  301 

ing  quite  well  what  this  journey  meant.  He  was  a  little 
surprised  that  Helen  should  desert  her  husband  at«this 
crisis.  In  his  philosophy  it  was  the  part  of  a  woman 
who  had  character  to  "back  her  husband,"  no  matter 
what  he  might  do,  so  long  as  he  was  faithful  to  his 
marriage  oath.  Jackson  had  been  a  fool,  like  so  many 
men ;  there  was  trouble  in  the  air,  and  she  had  run 
away.  He  would  not  have  thought  it  of  her. 

Hart  swallowed  his  humiliation  before  his  cousin. 
He  was  much  relieved  at  the  outcome  of  the  affair ;  it 
released  him  from  further  responsibility  for  the  school, 
which  had  become  hateful  to  him.  He  was  chiefly  con 
cerned,  now,  lest  the  difficulty  with  the  trustees  should 
become  known  and  hurt  his  reputation,  especially  lest 
the  men  in  his  office,  to  whom  he  was  an  autocrat  and  a 
genius,  should  suspect  something.  He  began  at  once 
to  push  the  work  on  the  last  details  for  the  hotel,  with 
the  hope  of  forcing  Graves  to  deliver  another  block  of 
the  "stock,"  which  he  argued  was  due  him  for  his 
commission. 

Now  that  the  matter  had  been  quietly  adjusted  with 
out  scandal,  he  was  inclined  to  feel  more  aggrieved  than 
ever  over  his  wife's  departure.  "  She  might  have  waited 
to  see  how  it  turned  out,"  he  repeated  to  himself,  obsti 
nately  refusing  her  the  right  to  judge  himself  except 
where  his  acts  affected  her  publicly.  For  some  time  he 
kept  up  with  acquaintances  the  fiction  of  Helen's  "  visit 
in  the  East "  ;  he  even  took  a  room  at  the  Shoreham  Club 
for  the  hunting  season.  But  he  soon  fancied  that  the 


802  THE  COMMON  LOT 

people  at  the  club  were  cool  to  him;  fewer  engagements 
came  his  way;  no  one  referred  to  the  great  building, 
which  had  given  him  so  much  reputation ;  the  men  he 
had  known  best  seemed  embarrassed  when  he  joined 
them,  —  men,  too,  who  would  not  have  winked  an  eye 
at  a  "  big  coup."  The  women  soon  ceased  to  ask  about 
Helen;  it  was  getting  abroad  that  there  was  "something 
wrong  with  the  Jackson  Harts."  For  it  had  leaked, 
more  or  less,  as  such  matters  always  will  leak.  One  man 
drops  a  word  to  his  neighbor,  and  the  neighbor's  wife 
pieces  that  to  something  she  has  heard  or  surmised. 

So  before  the  season  was  over  Hart  gave  up  his  room 
at  the  club,  where  his  raw  self-consciousness  was  too 
often  bruised,  Then,  finding  his  empty  house  in  the 
city  insupportable,  he  went  to  live  with  his  mother  in 
his  uncle's  old  home.  There  was  a  lull  in  building  at 
this  time,  due  to  the  high  prices  of  materials,  but  fortu 
nately  he  could  keep  himself  busy  with  the  hotel  and 
a  large  country  house  in  the  centre  of  the  state,  which 
often  made  an  excuse  for  him  to  get  away  from  the  city. 

Helen  wrote  to  him  from  time  to  time,  filling  her 
letters  with  details  about  the  boys.  She  suggested  that 
they  should  return  to  the  city  to  visit  their  grandmother 
during  the  Christmas  holidays.  She  never  referred  to 
the  situation  between  them,  apparently  considering  that 
he  had  it  in  his  power  to  end  it  when  he  would.  He 
was  minded  often  when  he  received  these  letters  to 
write  her  sternly  in  reply,  setting  forth  the  wrong  which 
in  her  obstinacy  she  was  doing  to  herself  and  their 
children,  He  went  over  these  imaginary  letters  in  hjs. 


THE   COMMON  LOT  303 

;dle  moments,  working  out  their  phrases  with  great  care ; 
they  had  a  fine,  dignified  ring  to  them,  the  tolerant  and 
condoning  note.  But  when  he  tried  to  write  he  did  not 
get  very  far  with  them.  Sometimes  he  thought  of  writ 
ing  simply,  "  I  love  you  very  much,  Nell ;  I  want  you 
back ;  can  you  not  forgive  me  ? "  But  he  knew  well 
that  he  could  not  merely  say,  "  I  have  done  wrong,  for 
give  me,"  if  he  would  affect  that  new  will  in  his  wife,  so 
gently  stern.  Even  if  he  could  bring  himself  to  confess 
his  dishonesty,  that  would  not  suffice.  There  was  another 
and  deeper  gulf  between  them,  one  that  he  could  not 
clearly  fathom.  "  From  the  very  beginning  we  have  lived 
wrongly,"  she  had  cried  that  last  time.  "  We  can  never 
go  on  again  in  the  same  way."  .  .  .  No,  he  was  not 
ready  to  accept  her  judgment  of  him. 

Thus  the  winter  wore  away,  forlornly,  and  early  in 
April  the  first  hint  of  spring  came  into  the  dirty  city. 
On  a  Sunday  afternoon  the  architect  went  to  call  on  his 
old  friend,  Mrs.  Phillips,  who  was  one  of  the  few  persons 
who  gave  him  any  comfort  these  days.  He  found  her 
cutting  the  leaves  of  an  art  journal. 

"  There's  an  article  here  about  that  German  —  the  one 
we  are  all  trying  to  help,  you  know,"  she  said,  giving 
him  a  hand.  "  Yes,  I  have  taken  to  patronizing  the  arts  ; 
it's  pleasanter  than  charities.  I  have  graduated  from 
philanthropy.  And  you  have  to  do  something  nowadays, 
if  you  want  to  keep  up." 

She  spoke  with  her  usual  bluntness,  and  then  added  a 
little  cant  in  a  conventional  tone :  — 


304  THE  COMMON   LOT 

"  And  I  think  those  of  us  who  have  the  time  and  the 
position  should  do  something  to  help  these  poor  artists 
who  are  struggling  here  in  this  commercial  city.  People 
won't  buy  their  pictures.  .  .  .  But  what  is  the  matter 
with  you  ?  You  look  as  if  you  had  come  to  the  end  of 
everything.  I  suppose  it's  the  old  story.  That  cold 
Puritan  wife  of  yours  has  gone  for  good.  It's  no  use 
pretending  to  me ;  I  knew  from  the  start  how  it  would 
be." 

"  But  I  don't  know  whether  she  has  gone  for  good," 
he  muttered. 

"  You  might  as  well  make  up  your  mind  to  it.  Two 
people  like  you  two  can't  get  along  together." 

"  It  isn't  that,"  he  protested.  "  We  have  been  very 
happy  until  lately." 

"  Well,  don't  mope,  whatever  you  do.  Either  go  and 
eat  your  humble  pie,  or  arrange  for  a  divorce.  You  can't 
go  on  this  way  much  longer.  Oh,  I  know  all  your 
troubles,  of  course.  Hasn't  that  pleasant  brother-in-law 
of  mine  been  in  here  rehearsing  that  story  about  the 
school,  —  well,  what  do  you  call  it  ?  And  he  seems  to 
hold  me  responsible  for  the  mess,  because  I  liked  you, 
and  gave  you  your  first  chance.  I  didn't  corrupt  you, 
did  I  ?  " 

The  architect  moved  uneasily.  The  widow's  levity 
displeased  him,  and  roused  his  anger  afresh  against  the 
trustees. 

"  I  don't  know  what  rot  Judge  Phillips  has  been  tell 
ing  you,  but  —  " 

"Come,"   she   interrupted   him  in  his   defence,  "sit 


THE   COMMON  LOT  305 

down  here  by  me  and  let  me  talk  to  you.  You  know  me 
well  enough  to  see  that  I  don't  care  what  the  judge  says. 
But  I  have  something  to  say  to  t/ow." 

She  made  a  place  for  him  on  the  lounge,  and  tossed  him 
a  pillow  to  make  him  comfortable.  Then,  dropping  her 
review  on  the  floor,  she  locked  her  fingers  behind  her 
head  and  looked  searchingly  at  the  man. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  have  been  up  to,  and  I  don't 
care.  Harrison  always  said  I  hadn't  any  moral  sense, 
and  I  suppose  I  haven't  of  his  sort.  You  should  have 
had  your  uncle's  money,  or  a  good  part  at  any  rate,  and 
it's  natural  that  you  should  try  to  get  all  you  can  of  it 
now,  I  say.  But  you  must  have  been  stupid  to  let  that 
old  square-toes  Pemberton  get  in  your  way." 

This  cynical  analysis  of  the  situation  was  not  precisely 
salve  to  the  architect's  wound.  He  was  not  ready  to  go 
as  far  as  the  woman  lightly  sketched.  But  he  listened, 
for  the  sake  of  her  sympathy,  if  for  no  other  reason. 

"  Now,  as  I  said,  there's  no  use  moping  around  here. 
Pick  right  up  and  get  out  for  a  few  months.  When  you 
come  back,  people  won't  remember  what  was 'the  matter. 
Or,  if  you  still  find  it  chilly,  you  can  go  to  New  York  and 
start  there.  It's  no  use  fighting  things  out  and  all  that. 
Bury  them." 

She  paused  to  give  emphasis  to  her  suggestion. 

"  Let  your  wife  play  by  herself  for  a  while ;  it  will  do 
her  good.  When  she  hears  that  you  are  in  Europe,  hav 
ing  a  good  time,  she'll  begin  to  see  she's  been  silly.  .  .  . 
I  am  going  over,  too.  I've  got  to  rent  Forest  Manor  this 
summer.  That  Harris  man  went  wrong  the  last  time  he 


806  THE   COMMON   LOT 

advised  me,  and  got  me  into  all  sorts  of  trouble, — in« 
dustrials.  Venetia  pensions  me  !  She  won't  go  abroad, 
but  she  kindly  gives  me  what  she  thinks  I  ought  to 
spend  for  the  summer  and  advises  me  to  go  over.  I  sail 
on  the  Kronprinz,  the  20th." 

The  invitation  to  him  was  implied  in  the  pause  that 
followed.  The  gleam  in  the  man's  eyes  showed  his 
interest  in  her  suggestion,  but  he  made  no  reply. 

"There's  nothing  to  do  in  your  business  just  now, 
as  you  said,  and  you  should  give  these  talky  people  a 
chance  to  forget.  We  could  have  a  good  time  over  there. 
You  might  buy  some  things  and  sell  them  here,  and 
make  your  expenses  that  way  easily.  You  know  all  the 
nice  little  places,  and  if  Maida  and  her  husband  come 
over,  we  could  take  an  auto  and  do  them.  Think  of  Italy 
in  May ! " 

She  unclasped  her  hands  and  leaned  forward,  resting 
one  arm  on  the  cushioned  back  of  the  lounge,  and  thus 
revealing  a  very  pretty  forearm  and  wrist.  Two  little 
red  spots  of  enthusiasm  glowed  in  her  cheeks.  What 
life  and  vitality  at  forty -three!  the  man  thought,  smil 
ing  appreciatively  into  her  face.  For  the  first  time  she 
moved  him  emotionally.  He  was  lonely,  miserable,  and 
thoroughly  susceptible  to  such  charm  as  she  had, 

"  It  would  be  awfully  pleasant,"  he  said  at  last,  lean 
ing  toward  her,  "to  get  away  from  this  place,  with 
you ! "  .  ,  . 

His  hand  slipped  to  her  beautiful  arm.  At  that  mo 
ment  Venetia  came  into  the  room,  unnoticed  by  the  two 
on  the  lounge.  She  stood  for  a  little  while  watching  them, 


THE  COMMON   LOT  307 

and  then,  with  a  sinile  on  her  expressive  lips,  noiselessly 
withdrew. 

"Well,  wire  for  a  passage  to-morrow,"  Mrs.  Phillips 
murmured.  .  .  . 

There  was  nothing  more,  nothing  that  would  have 
offended  the  most  scrupulous ;  for  the  architect,  at  least, 
was  essentially  healthy-minded.  In  a  lonely  moment  he 
might  satisfy  the  male  need  for  sympathy  by  philan 
dering  with  a  pretty  woman,  who  soothed  his  bruised 
egotism.  But  he  did  not  have  that  kind  of  weakness  — 
the  woman  weakness.  A  few  minutes  later  he  was 
leaving  the  room,  saying  as  he  looked  into  Louise  Phil- 
lips's  brown  eyes :  — 

"Yes,  I  think  you  are  right.  I  need  to  get  away 
from  this  town  for  a  while  and  rest  my  nerves." 

"When  you  come  back  people  will  be  only  too  glad 
to  see  you.  They  don't  remember  their  scruples  long." 

"  There  isn't  anything  for  them  to  worry  over." 

"  The  Kronprinz,  then." 

In  the  hall  he  met  Venetia,  who  was  slowly  coming 
down  the  stairs,  wrapped  in  a  long  cloak.  She  hesitated 
a  moment,  then  continued  to  descend. 

"Hello,  Venetia!"  Hart  called  out. 

She  swept  down  the  remaining  steps  without  replying, 
her  eyes  shining  hotly.  As  she  passed  him,  she  turned 
and  shot  one  word  full  in  his  face,  —  "  Cad ! " 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  girl's  word  was  like  a  blow  in  the  face.  It 
toppled  over  any  self-complacency  that  had  survived 
these  last  disintegrating  months.  Was  he  as  mean  a 
thing  as  that  ?  So  little  that  a  girl  whom  he  had  al 
ways  treated  with  jovial  condescension  might  insult  him, 
unprovoked?  Probably  others,  all  those  people  whose 
acquaintance  he  valued,  had  a  like  contempt  for  him, 
which  they  refrained,  conventionally,  from  expressing. 
At  first  he  did  not  resent  their  judgment;  he  was  too 
much  dazed. 

In  this  plight  he  walked  south  on  the  avenue,  without 
minding  where  he  was  going,  and  then  turned  west, 
automatically,  at  Twenty-second  Street,  walking  until 
he  came  to  the  region  of  dance  halls  and  flashy  saloons. 
In  this  unfamiliar  neighborhood  there  was  a  glare  of 
light  from  the  great  electric  signs  which  decorated  the 
various  places  of  resort,  and  the  street  was  crowded 
with  men  and  women,  who  loitered  about  the  saloons 
and  dance  halls,  enjoying  the  fitful  mildness  of  the  April 
evening.  At  this  early  hour  there  were  more  women 
than  men  on  the  street,  and  their  dresses  of  garish 
spring  colors,  their  loud,  careless  voices,  and  air  of 
reckless  ease,  reminded  the  architect  faintly,  very 

308 


THE   COMMON  LOT  309 

faintly,  of  the  boulevards  he  had  loved  in  his  happy 
student  years.  In  this  spot  of  the  broad  American 
city  coarse  license  flourished,  and  the  one  necessity  for 
him  who  sought  forgetfulness  was  the  price  of  pleasure. 
The  scene  distracted  his  mind  for  the  moment  from  the 
sting  of  the  girl's  contempt. 

He  entered  one  of  the  larger  saloons  on  the  corner  of 
an  avenue,  and  sat  down  at  a  small  table.  When  the 
waiter  darted  to  him,  and,  impudently  leering  across 
the  table  into  his  face,  asked,  "What's  yours,  gent?" 
he  answered  quickly :  "  Champagne  !  Bring  me  a  bottle 
and  ice."  His  heavy  spirit  craved  the  amber  wine, 
which,  in  association  at  least,  heartens  man.  At  the 
tables  all  about  him  sat  the  women  of  the  neighborhood, 
large-boned  and  heavy  creatures,  drinking  beer  by  them 
selves,  or  taking  champagne  with  stupid-looking  rough 
men,  probably  buyers  and  sellers  of  stock  at  the  Yards, 
which  were  not  far  away.  The  women  had  the  blanched 
faces  of  country  girls  over  whom  the  city  has  passed 
like  the  plates  of  a  mighty  roller.  The  men  had  the 
tan  of  the  distant  prairies,  from  which  they  had  come 
with  their  stock.  Their  business  over,  the  season's 
profit  obtained,  they  had  set  themselves  to  deliberate 
debauch  that  should  last  for  days,  —  as  long  as  the 
"wad"  held  out  and  the  brute  lust  in  their  bodies 
remained  unquenched. 

Presently  the  waiter  returned  with  the  heavy  bottle 
-and  slopped  some  of  the  wine  into  a  glass.  The  archi 
tect  raised  it  and  drank.  It  was  execrable,  sweetened 
stuff,  but  he  drank  the  glass  at  a  draught,  and  poured 


310  THE  COMMON  LOT 

another  and  drank  it.  The  girl's  inexplicable  insult 
swept  over  him  afresh  in  a  wave  of  anger.  He  should 
find  a  way  somehow  to  call  her  to  account.  .  .  . 

"  Say,  mister,  you  don't  want  to  drink  all  that  wine  by 
yourself,  do  you  ?  " 

A  woman  at  the  next  table,  who  was  sitting  alone 
before  an  empty  beer  glass  and  smoking  a  cigarette,  had 
spoken  to  him  in  a  furtive  voice. 

"  Come  over,  then,"  he  answered,  roughly  pushing  a 
chair  to  the  table.  "  Here,  waiter,  bring  another  glass." 

The  woman  slid,  rather  than  walked,  to  the  chair  by 
his  side,  and  drank  the  champagne  like  a  parched  ani 
mal.  He  ordered  another  bottle. 

"  Enjoying  yourself  ?  "  she  inquired  politely,  having  sat 
isfied  her  first  thirst.  "  Been  in  the  city  long  ?  I  ain't 
seen  you  here  at  Dove's  before." 

He  looked  at  her  with  languid  curiosity.  She  recalled 
to  him  the  memory  of  her  Paris  sisters,  with  whom  ho 
had  shared  many  a  consommation  in  those  blessed  days 
that  he  had  almost  forgotten.  But  she  had  none  of  the 
sparkle,  the  human  charm,  of  her  Latin  sisters.  She  was 
a  coarse  vessel,  and  he  wondered  at  the  men  who  sought 
joy  in  her. 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Out  on  the  coast.  San  Diego's  my  home.  But  I  was 
in  Philadelphia  ?ust  winter.  I  guess  I  shall  go  back  to 
the  East  pretty  soon.  I  don't  like  Chicago  much  —  it's 
too  rough  out  here  to  suit  me." 

She  found  Chicago  inferior !  He  laughed  with  the 
humor  of  the  idea.  It  was  a  joke  he  should  like  to  share 


THE   COMMON   LOT  311 

with  his  respectable  friends.  They  drank  and  talked 
while  the  evening  sped,  and  he  plied  her  with  many 
questions  in  idle  curiosity,  touched  with  that  interest  in 
women  of  her  class  which  most  men  have  somewhere  in 
the  dregs  of  their  natures.  She  chatted  volubly,  willing 
enough  to  pay  for  her  entertainment. 

As  he  listened  to  her,  this  creature  of  the  swift  instants, 
whose  only  perception  was  the  moment's  sensation,  he 
grew  philosophical.  The  other  world,  his  proper  world 
of  care  and  painful  forethought,  faded  from  his  vision. 
Here  in  Dove's  place  he  was  a  thousand  miles  from  the 
respectabilities  in  which  he  had  his  being.  Here  alone 
in  the  city  one  might  forget  them,  and  nothing  mat 
tered, —  his  troubles,  his  wife's  judgment  of  him,  the 
girl's  contempt. 

At  last  he  had  loosened  that  troublesome  coil  of  things, 
which  lately  had  weighed  him  down,  and  it  seemed  easy 
enough  to  cut  himself  free  from  it  for  good  and  walk  the 
earth  once  more  unhampered,  like  these,  the  flotsam  of 
the  city. 

"  Come  !  Let's  go  over  to  Grinsky's  hall,"  the  woman 
suggested,  noticing  the  architect's  silence,  and  seeing  no 
immediate  prospect  of  another  bottle  of  wine.  "We'll 
find  something  doing  over  there,  sure." 

But  he  was  already  tired  of  the  woman ;  she  offended 
his  cultivated  sensibilities.  So  he  shook  his  head,  paid 
for  the  wine,  said  good  evening  to  her,  and  started  to  leave 
the  place.  She  followed  him,  talking  volubly,  and  when 
they  reached  the  street  she  took  his  arm,  clinging  to  him 
with  all  the  weight  of  her  dragging  will. 


312  THE  COMMON  LOT 

"  You  don't  want  to  go  home  yet,"  she  coaxed.  "  You're 
a  nice  gentleman.  Come  in  here  to  Grinsky's  and  give 
me  a  dance." 

Her  entreaties  disgusted  him.  People  on  the  street 
looked  and  smiled.  At  the  bottom  he  was  a  thoroughly 
clean-minded  American ;  he  could  not  even  coquette  with 
debauch  without  shame  and  timidity.  She  and  her  class 
were  nauseating  to  him,  like  evil-smelling  rooms  and 
foul  sights.  That  was  not  his  vice. 

He  paid  for  her  admission  to  the  dance-hall,  dropped  a 
dollar  in  her  hand,  and  left  her.  Then  where  to  go  ? 
How  to  pass  the  hours  ?  He  was  at  an  utter  loss  what 
to  do  with  himself,  like  all  properly  married,  respectable 
men,  when  the  domestic  pattern  of  their  lives  is  disturbed 
for  any  reason.  So,  vaguely,  without  purpose,  he  began 
to  stroll  east  in  the  direction  of  the  lake,  taking  off  his 
hat  to  let  the  night  wind  cool  his  head.  He  found  walk 
ing  pleasant  in  the  mild  spring  air,  and  when  he  came  to 
the  end  of  the  street  he  turned  south  into  a  deserted 
avenue  that  was  starred  in  the  dark  night  by  a  line  of  arc 
lamps.  It  was  a  dull,  respectable,  middle-class  district, 
quite  unfamiliar  to  him,  and  he  stared  inquiringly  at  the 
monotonous  blocks  of  brick  houses  and  cheap  apartment 
buildings.  Here  was  the  ugly,  comfortable  housing  of 
the  modern  city,  where  lived  a  mass  of  good  citizens, 
—  clerks  and  small  business  men  with  their  wives 
and  children.  He  wondered  vaguely  if  this  was  what 
his  wife  would  have  him  come  to,  this  dreary  monotony 
of  small  homes,  each  one  like  its  neighbor,  where  the  two 
main  facts  of  existence  were  shelter  and  food. 


THE   COMMON  LOT  313 

A  wave  of  self-pity  swept  over  him,  and  his  thoughts 
returned  to  his  old  grievance :  if  Helen  had  stayed  by 
him  all  would  have  been  well.  He  wanted  his  children ; 
he  wanted  his  home,  his  wife,  his  neighbors,  his  little 
accustomed  world  of  human  relationships,  —  all  as  it  had 
been  before.  And  he  blamed  her  for  destroying  his  hap 
piness,  shutting  his  mind  obstinately  to  any  other  consid 
eration,  unwilling  to  admit  even  to  his  secret  self  that 
his  greed,  his  thirst  for  luxury,  had  aught  to  do  with 
the  case.  He  had  striven  with  all  his  might,  even  as 
the  bread  winners  in  these  houses  strove  daily,  to  get  a 
point  of  vantage  in  the  universal  struggle.  Doubtless 
these  humble  citizens  had  their  modicum  of  content. 
But  why  should  he,  with  his  larger  appetite,  be  con 
demned  to  their  level  ?  The  idea  was  utterly  repugnant  to 
him,  and  gradually  that  heavy  weight  of  depression,  which 
the  wine  had  temporarily  lifted,  pressed  on  his  spirits. 

He  must  have  walked  many  blocks  on  this  avenue 
between  the  monotonous  small  houses.  In  the  distance 
beyond  him,  to  the  south,  he  saw  a  fiery  glow  on  the  soft 
heavens,  which  he  took  to  be  the  nightly  reflection  from 
the  great  blast  furnaces  of  the  steel  works  in  South 
Chicago.  Presently  as  he  emerged  upon  a  populous 
cross  street,  the  light  seemed  suddenly  much  nearer,  and, 
unlike  the  soft  effulgence  from  the  blast  furnaces,  the 
red  sky  was  streaked  with  black.  On  the  corners  of  the 
street  there  was  an  unwonted  excitement,  —  men  gaping 
upward  at  the  fiery  cloud,  then  running  eastward,  in 
the  direction  of  the  lake.  From  the  west  there  sounded 


314  THE  COMMON   LOT 

the  harsh,  gong  of  a  fire-engine,  which  was  pounding 
rapidly  down  the  car  tracks.  It  came,  rocking  in  a 
whirlwind  of  galloping  horses  and  swaying  men.  The 
crowd  on  the  street  broke  into  a  run,  streaming  along 
the  sidewalks  in  the  wake  of  the  engine. 

The  architect  woke  from  his  dead  thoughts  and  ran 
with  the  crowd.  Two,  three,  four  blocks,  they  sped 
toward  the  lake,  which  curves  eastward  at  this  point, 
and  as  he  ran  the  street  became  strangely  familiar  to 
him.  The  crowd  turned  south  along  a  broad  avenue 
that  led  to  the  park.  Some  one  cried :  "  There  it  is !  It's 
the  hotel ! "  A  moment  more,  and  the  architect  found 
himself  at  the  corner  of  the  park  opposite  the  lofty 
building,  out  of  whose  upper  stories  broad  billows  of 
smoke,  broken  by  tongues  of  flame,  were  pouring. 

There,  in  the  corner  made  by  the  boulevard  and  the 
park,  where  formerly  was  the  weedy  ruin,  rose  the  great 
building,  which  Graves  had  finished  late  in  the  winter, 
and  had  turned  over  to  the  hotel  company.  Its  eight 
stories  towered  loftily  above  the  other  houses  and  apart 
ment  buildings  in  the  neighborhood.  The  countless 
windows  along  the  broad  front  gleamed  portentously 
with  the  reflection  from  the  flames  above.  At  the  west 
corner,  overlooking  the  park,  above  a  steep  ascent  of 
jutting  bay  windows,  there  floated  a  light  blue  pennon, 
bearing  a  name  in  black  letters,  —  THE  GLENMORE. 

At  first  the  architect  scarcely  realized  that  this  build 
ing  which  was  burning  was  Graves's  hotel,  his  hotel. 
The  excitement  of  the  scene  stupefied  him.  Already 
the  police  had  roped  off  the  streets  beneath  the  fire,  in 


THE   COMMON  LOT  315 

which  the  crowd  was  thickening  rapidly.  From  many 
points  in  the  adjoining  blocks  came  the  shrill  whis 
tles  of  the  throbbing  engines,  answering  one  another. 
The  fire  burned  quietly  aloft  in  the  sky,  while  below 
there  rose  the  clamor  of  excited  men  and  screeching 
engines.  The  crowd  grew  denser  every  moment,  and 
surged  again  and  again  nearer  the  building,  packing 
solidly  about  the  fire  lines.  Hart  was  borne  along  in 
the  current. 

"  They've  pulled  the  third  alarm,"  one  man  said  in  his 
ear,  chewing  excitedly  on  a  piece  of  gum.  "There's 
more'n  fifty  in  there  yet !  " 

"  They  say  the  elevators  are  going  still ! "  another  one 
exclaimed. 

"  Where's  the  fire-escapes  ?  " 

"Must  be  on  the  rear  or  over  by  the  alley.  There 
ain't  none  this  side,  sure  enough." 

"Yes,  they're  in  back,"  the  architect  said  authori 
tatively. 

He  tried  to  think  just  where  they  were  and  where  they 
opened  in  the  building,  but  could  not  remember.  A  voice 
wailed  dismally  through  a  megaphone :  — 

"  Look  out,  boys !     Back  ! " 

On  the  edge  of  the  cornice  appeared  three  little  figures 
with  a  line  of  hose.  At  that  height  they  looked  like  will 
ing  gnomes  on  the  crust  of  a  flaming  world. 

"  Gee  !     Look  at  that  roof !     Look  at  it ! " 

The  cry  from  the  megaphone  had  come  too  late. 
Suddenly,  without  warning,  the  top  of  the  hotel  rose 
straight  into  the  air,  and  from  the  sky  above  there 


316  THE   COMMON   LOT 

sounded  a  great  report,  like  the  detonation  of  a  cannon 
at  close  range.  The  roof  had  blown  up.  For  an  instant 
darkness  followed,  as  if  the  flame  had  been  smothered, 
snuffed  out.  Then  with  a  mighty  roar  the  pent-up  gases 
that  had  caused  the  explosion  ignited  and  burst  forth  in 
a  broad  sheet  of  beautiful  blue  flame,  covering  the  doomed 
building  with  a  crown  of  fire. 

Hart  looked  for  the  men  with  the  hose.  One  had 
caught  on  the  sloping  roof  of  a  line  of  bay  windows, 
and  clung  there  desperately  seven  stories  above  the 
ground. 

"  He's  a  goner ! "  some  one  near  him  groaned. 

Large  strips  of  burning  tar  paper  began  to  float  above 
the  heads  of  the  crowd,  causing  a  stampede.  In  the 
rush,  Hart  got  nearer  the  fire  lines,  more  immediately 
in  front  of  the  hotel,  which  irresistibly  drew  him  closer. 
Now  he  could  hear  the  roar  of  the  flame  as  it  swept 
through  the  upper  stories  and  streamed  out  into  the 
dark  night.  The  fierce  light  illumined  the  silk  streamer, 
which  still  waved  from  the  pole  at  the  corner  of  the 
building,  untouched  by  the  explosion.  Across  the  east 
wall,  under  the  cornice,  was  painted  the  sign:  THE 
GLENM  ORE  FAMILY  HOTEL  ;  and  beneath,  in  letters  of 
boastful  size,  FIREPROOF  BUILDING.  Tongues  of  flame 
danced  over  the  words. 

The  policeman  at  the  line  pointed  derisively  to  the. 
legend  with  his  billy. 

"  Now  ain't  that  fireproof ! " 

"  Burns  like  rotten  timber ! "  a  man  answered. 

It  was  going  frightfully  fast !     The  flames  were  now 


THE   COMMON   LOT  317 

galloping  through,  the  upper  stories,  sweeping  the  lofty- 
structure  from  end  to  end,  and  smoke  had  begun  to 
pour  from  many  points  in  the  lower  stories,  showing 
that  the  fount  of  flame  had  its  roots  far  down  in  the 
heart  of  the  building.  Vague  reports  circulated  through 
the  crowd :  A  hundred  people  or  more  were  still  in  the 
hotel.  All  were  out.  Thirty  were  penned  in  the  rear 
rooms  of  the  sixth  floor.  One  elevator  was  still  running. 
It  had  been  caught  at  the  time  of  the  explosion,  etc.  .  .  . 
For  the  moment  the  firemen  were  making  their  fight  in 
the  rear,  and  the  north  front  was  left  in  a  splendid  peace 
of  silent  flame  and  smoke  —  a  spectacle  for  the  crowd 
in  the  street. 

Within  the  lofty  structure,  the  architect  realized 
vaguely,  there  was  being  enacted  one  of  those  modern 
tragedies  which  mock  the  pride  and  vanity  of  man.  In 
that  furnace  human  beings  were  fighting  for  their  lives, 
or,  penned  in,  cut  off  by  the  swift  flames,  were  waiting 
in  delirious  fear  for  aid  that  was  beyond  the  power  of 
men  to  give  them.  A  terrible  horror  clutched  him.  It 
was  his  building  which  was  being  eaten  up  like  grass 
before  the  flame.  He  dodged  beneath  the  fire  line  and 
began  to  run  toward  the  east  end,  driven  by  a  wild 
impulse  that  he  could  not  control.  He  must  do  some 
thing, —  must  help!  It  was  his  building;  he  knew  it 
from  cornice  to  foundation ;  he  might  know  how  to  get 
at  those  within !  A  policeman  seized  him  roughly  and 
thrust  him  back  behind  the  line.  He  fought  his  way 
to  the  front  again,  while  the  dense  crowd  elbowed  and 
cursed  him.  He  lost  his  hat;  his  coat  was  half  torn 


318  THE   COMMON    LOT 

from  his  shoulders.  But  he  struggled  frantically  for 
ward. 

"  You  here,  Hart !     What  are  you  after  ?  " 

Some  one  stretched  out  a  detaining  hand  and  drew 
him  out  of  the  press.  It  was  Cook,  his  draughtsman. 
Cook  was  chewing  gum,  his  jaws  working  nervously, 
grinding  and  biting  viciously  in  his  excitement.  The 
fierce  glare  revealed  the  deep  lines  of  the  man's  face. 

"  You  can't  get  out  that  way.  The  street's  packed 
solid ! "  Cook  bellowed  into  his  ear.  "  God  alive,  how 
fast  it's  going !  That's  your  steel  frame,  tile  partition, 
fireproof  construction,  is  it  ?  To  hell  with  it ! " 

Suddenly  he  clutched  the  architect's  arm  again  and 
shouted :  — 

"  Where  are  the  east-side  fire-escapes  ?  I  can't  see 
nothing  up  that  wall,  can  you  ?  " 

The  architect  peered  through  the  wreaths  of  smoke. 
There  should  have  been  an  iron  ladder  between  every 
two  tiers  of  bay  windows  on  this  side  of  the  building. 

"They  are  all  in  back,"  he  answered,  remembering 
now  that  the  contractor  had  cut  out  those  on  the  east 
wall  as  a  "disfigurement."  "Let's  get  around  to  the 
rear,"  he  shouted  to  the  draughtsman,  his  anxiety  whip 
ping  him  once  more. 

After  a  time  they  managed  to  reach  an  alley  at  the 
southwest  angle  of  the  hotel,  where  two  engines  were 
pumping  from  a  hydrant.  Here  they  could  see  the  reach 
of  the  south  wall,  up  which  stretched  the  spidery  lines 
of  a  single  fire-escape.  Cook  pointed  to  it  in  mute 
wonder  and  disgust. 


THE   COMMON  LOT  319 

"  It's  just  a  question  if  the  beams  will  hold  into  the 
walls  until  they  can  get  all  the  folks  out,"  he  shouted. 
"  I  heard  that  one  elevator  boy  was  still  running  his 
machine  and  taking  'em  down.  As  long  as  the  floors  hold 
together,  he  can  run  his  elevator.  But  don't  talk  to  me 
about  your  fireproof  hotels !  Why,  the  bloody  thing 
ain't  been  burning  twenty  minutes,  and  look  at  it!" 

As  he  spoke  there  was  a  shrill  whistle  from  the  fire 
marshal,  and  then  a  wrenching,  crashing,  plunging  noise, 
like  the  sound  of  an  avalanche.  The  upper  part  of  the 
east  wall  had  gone,  toppling  outward  into  the  alley  like 
the  side  of  a  fragile  box.  In  another  moment  followed 
a  lesser  crash.  The  upper  floors  had  collapsed,  slipping 
down' into  the  inner  gulf  of  the  building.  There  was  a 
time  of  silence  and  awful  quiet ;  but  almost  immediately 
the  blue  flames,  shot  with  orange,  leaped  upward  once 
more.  From  the  precipitous  wall  above,  along  the  line 
of  the  fire-escape,  came  horrid  human  cries,  and  in  the 
blinding  smoke  and  flame  appeared  a  dozen  figures 
clinging  here  and  there  to  the  window  frames  like  insects, 
as  if  the  heat  had  driven  them  outward. 

Cook  swayed  against  the  architect  like  a  man  with 
nausea. 

"  They're  done  for  now,  sure,  all  that  ain't  out.  And 
I  guess  there  ain't  many  out.  It  just  slumped,  just 
slumped,"  he  repeated  with  a  nervous  quiver  of  the 
mouth.  Suddenly  he  turned  his  pale  face  to  the  archi 
tect  and  glared  into  his  eyes. 

"  Damn  you,  you !  Damn  you  —  you  —  " 

he  stammered,  shaking  his  fist  at  him.  "  There  wasn't 


320  THE   COMMON   LOT 

any  steel  in  the  bloody  box!  It  was  rotten  cheese. 
That's  you,  you,  you  ! "  He  turned  and  ran  toward  the 
burning  mass,  distracted,  shouting  as  he  ran :  "  Rotten 
cheese  !  Just  rotten  cheese  !  " 

But  the  architect  still  stood  there  in  the  alley,  rooted 
in  horror,  stupefied.  High  above  him,  in  a  window  of 
the  south  wall,  which  was  still  untouched  by  the  fire,  he 
saw  a  woman  crouching  on  the  narrow  ledge  of  the  brick 
sill.  She  clung  with  one  hand  to  an  awning  rope  and 
put  the  other  before  her  eyes.  He  shouted  something  to 
her,  but  he  could  not  hear  the  sound  of  his  own  voice. 
She  swayed  back  and  forth,  and  then  as  a  swirl  of  flame 
shot  up  in  the  room  behind  her,  she  fell  forward  into  the 
abyss  of  the  night.  ...  A  boy's  face  appeared  at  one 
of  the  lower  windows.  He  was  trying  to  break  the  pane 
of  heavy  glass.  Finally  he  smashed  a  hole  with  his  fist 
and  stood  there,  dazed,  staring  down  into  the  alley ;  then 
he  dropped  backward  into  the  room,  and  a  jet  of  smoke 
poured  from  the  vent  he  had  made. 

In  front  of  the  hotel  there  were  fresh  shouts ;  they 
were  using  the  nets,  now.  The  architect  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands,  and  moaning  to  himself  began  to  run,  to 
flee  from  the  horrible  spot.  But  a  cry  arrested  him,  a 
wail  of  multitudinous  voices,  which  rose  above  the  throb 
of  the  engines,  the  crackle  of  the  fire,  all  the  tumult  of  the 
catastrophe.  He  looked  up  once  more  to  the  fire-eaten 
ruin.  The  lofty  south  wall,  hitherto  intact,  had  begun 
to  waver  along  the  east  edge.  It  tottered,  hung,  then  slid 
backward,  shaking  off  the  figures  on  the  fire-escape  as  if 
they  had  been  frozen  flies.  ...  He  put  his  hands  to  his 


THE  COMMON  LOT  321 

eyes  and  ran.  He  could  hear  the  crowd  in  the  street 
groaning  with  rage  and  pity.  As  he  ran  he  saw  beside 
the  park  a  line  of  ambulances  and  patrol  wagons  ready 
for  their  burdens. 

How  long  he  ran,  or  in  what  direction,  he  never  knew. 
He  had  a  dim  memory  of  himself,  sitting  in  some  place 
with  a  bottle  of  whiskey  before  him.  The  liquor  seemed 
to  make  no  impression  on  his  brain ;  his  hand  still  shook 
with  the  paralysis  of  fear.  He  remembered  his  efforts  to 
pour  whiskey  into  the  glass  without  spilling  it.  After  a 
time  a  face,  vaguely  familiar,  entered  his  nightmare,  and 
the  man,  who  carried  a  little  black  bag  such  as  doctors 
use,  sat  down  beside  him  and  shouted  at  him :  — 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  What  do  you  want  with 
that  whiskey  ?  Give  it  to  me.  You  have  had  all  the 
booze  that's  good  for  you,  I  guess." 

And  in  his  stupor  he  said  to  the  man  tearfully  :  — 

"  Don't  take  it  away,  doctor.  For  heaven's  sake  don't 
take  the  whiskey  away !  I  tell  you,  I  have  killed  people 
to-night.  Eight,  ten,  forty — no,  I  killed  eight  people. 
Yes,  eight  men  and  women.  I  see  'em  dying  now.  Give 
me  the  whiskey  ! " 

"  You're  off  your  nut,  man,"  the  doctor  replied  impa 
tiently.  "  You  haven't  killed  any  one.  You  have  been 
boozing,  and  you'll  kill  yourself  if  you  don't  quit.  Here, 
give  me  that ! " 

He  remembered  rising  to  his  feet  obediently  and  say 
ing  very  solemnly :  — 

"  Very  well,  my  friend,  I  won't  drink  any  more  if  you 


322  THE   COMMON  LOT 

say  so.     But  listen  to  me.     I  killed  a  lot  of  people,  eight 
of  'em,  and  I  don't  know  how  many  more  besides  —  over 
there  in  a  great  fire.     I  saw  'em  dying,  like  flies,  like 
flies !     Now  give  me  one  more  drink." 
"  All  right,  you  killed  'em,  if  you  say  so." 
"  Don't  leave  me,  doctor !     It's  a  terrible  thing  to  kill 
so  many  people,  all  at  once,  like  flies,  like  flies ! " 

And  he  burst  into  tears,  sobbing  and  shaking  with  the 
awful  visions  of  his  brain,  his  head  buried  in  his  arms. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  next  morning  Hart  found  himself  on  a  sofa  in  a 
bare,  dusky  room  that  looked  as  if  it  was  a  doctor's  office. 
He  sat  up  and  tried  to  think  what  had  happened  to  him 
overnight.  Suddenly  the  picture  of  the  burning  hotel 
swept  across  his  memorj',  and  he  groaned  with  a  fresh 
sense  of  sharp  pain.  Some  one  was  whistling  in  the 
next  room,  and  presently  the  door  opened,  and  Dr.  Co- 
burn  appeared  in  trousers  and  undershirt,  mopping  his 
face  with  a  towel.  The  architect  recognized  him  now, 
and  knew  that  he  was  the  one  who  had  struggled  with 
him  in  his  dreams. 

"  Hello,  Jack  Hart !  "  the  doctor  called  out  boisterously. 
"  How  are  you  feeling  ?  Kind  of  dopey  ?  My,  but  you 
were  full  of  booze  last  night  !  I  had  to  jam  a  hypoder 
mic  into  you  to  keep  you  quiet,  when  I  got  you  over  here. 
Do  you  get  that  way  often  ?  " 

"  Was  I  drunk  ?  "  the  architect  asked  dully. 

"  Well,  I  rather  think.  Don't  you  feel  it  this  morn 
ing  ?  " 

He  grinned  at  the  dishevelled  figure  on  the  sofa  and 
continued  to  mop  his  face. 

__  "  You  were  talking  dotty,  too,  about  killing  folks.  I 
thought  maybe  you  might  have  a  gun  on  you.  But  I 
couldn't  find  anything.  What  have  you  been  doing?" 

323 


824  THE   COMMON  LOT 

"  It  was  the  fire,"  Hart  answered  slowly,  "  a  terrible 
fire.  People  were  killed  —  I  saw  them.  My  God  !  it 
was  awful  ! " 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  shuddered. 

"Shook  you  up  considerable,  did  it?  Your  nerves 
are  off.  Here,  wait  a  minute  !  I'll  fix  you  something." 

The  doctor  went  back  into  the  inner  room  and  returned 
presently  with  a  small  glass. 

"  Drink  this.     It  will  give  you  some  nerve." 

The  architect  took  the  stimulant  and  then  lay  down 
once  more  with  his  face  to  the  wall.  Before  long  he 
pulled  himself  together  and  drank  a  cup  of  coffee,  which 
the  doctor  had  prepared.  Then  he  took  himself  off,  say 
ing  that  he  must  get  to  his  office  at  once.  He  went  away 
in  a  daze,  barely  thanking  the  doctor  for  his  kindness. 
When  he  had  left,  Coburn  began  to  whistle  again,  think 
ing,  "  There's  something  more'n  drink  or  that  fire  the 
matter  with  him ! " 

Hart  bought  a  newspaper  at  the  first  stand.  It  was 
swelled  with  pages  of  coarse  cuts  and  "  stories "  of  the 
"  Glenmore  Hotel  Tragedy."  On  the  elevated  train, 
which  he  took  to  reach  the  city,  all  the  passengers  were 
buried  in  the  voluminous  sheets  of  their  newspapers, 
avidly  sucking  in  the  details  of  the  disaster.  For  a  time 
he  stared  at  the  great  cut  on  the  first  page  of  his  paper, 
which  purported  to  represent  the  scene  at  the  fire  when 
the  south  wall  fell.  But  in  its  place  he  saw  the  sheer 
stretch  of  pitiless  wall,  the  miserable  figures  on  the 
iron  ladder  being  swept  into  the  flames.  Then  he  read 


THE   COMMON  LOT  325 

the  headlines  of  the  account  of  the  fire.  Seventeen  per 
sons  known  to  have  been  in  the  hotel  were  missing ;  the 
bodies  of  ten  had  been  found.  Had  it  not  been  for  the 
heroism  of  a  colored  elevator  boy,  Morris  by  name,  who 
ran  his  car  up  and  down  seven  times  through  the  burning 
shaft,  the  death  list  would  have  been  far  longer.  On  the 
second  trip,  so  the  account  ran,  the  elevator  had  been 
caught  by  a  broken  gate  on  the  third  floor.  Morris  had 
coolly  run  his  car  back  to  the  top,  then  opened  the  lever 
to  full  speed,  and  crashed  his  way  triumphantly  through 
the  obstacle.  It  was  one  of  those  acts  of  unexpected 
intelligence,  daring,  and  devotion  to  duty  which  bring 
tears  to  the  eyes  of  thousands  all  over  the  land.  The 
brave  fellow  had  been  caught  in  the  collapse  of  the  upper 
floors,  and  his  body  had  not  yet  been  found.  It  was 
buried  under  tons  of  brick  and  iron  in  the  wrecked 
building. 

The  newspaper  account  wandered  on,  column  after 
column,  repeating  itself  again  and  again,  confused,  end 
lessly  prolix,  but  in  the  waste  of  irrelevancy  a  few  facts 
slowly  emerged.  The  Gleninore,  fortunately,  had  not 
been  half  full.  It  had  been  opened  only  six  weeks 
before  as  a  family  hotel,  —  one  of  those  shoddy  places 
where  flock  young  married  people  with  the  intention 
of  avoiding  the  cares  of  children  and  the  trials  of  house 
keeping  in  modest  homes;  where  there  is  music  twice 
a  week  and  dancing  on  Saturday  evenings;  where  the 
lower  windows  are  curtained  by  cheap  lace  bearing  large 
monograms,  and  electric  candles  and  carnations  are  pro 
vided  for  each  table  in  the  dining-room.  Another  year 


326  THE   COMMON   LOT 

from  this  time  there  would  have  been  three  or  four  hun 
dred  people  in  the  burning  tinder  box. 

The  fire  had  started  somewhere  in  the  rear  of  the 
second  floor,  from  defective  electric  wiring,  it  was  sup 
posed,  and  had  shot  up  the  rear  elevator  shaft,  which  had 
no  pretence  of  fireproof  protection.  The  east  wall  had 
bulged  almost  at  once,  pulling  out  the  supports  for  the 
upper  three  floors.  It  was  to  be  doubted  whether  the 
beams,  bearing-walls,  and  main  partitions  were  of  fire 
proof  materials.  The  charred  remains  of  Georgia  pine 
and  northern  spruce  seemed  to  indicate  that  they  were 
not.  At  any  rate,  the  incredible  rapidity  with  which  the 
fire  had  spread  and  the  dense  smoke  showed  that  the 
"  fireproofing "  was  of  the  flimsiest  description.  And, 
to  cap  all,  there  was  but  one  small  fire-escape  on  the 
rear  wall,  difficult  of  access !  "  The  Glenmore,"  so  the 
Chicago  Thunderer  pronounced,  "  was  nothing  but  an 
ornamental  coffin." 

Editorially,  the  Thunderer  had  already  begun  its 
denunciation  of  the  building  department  for  permitting 
a  contractor  to  erect  such  an  obvious  "  fire-trap,"  and  for 
granting  the  lessees  a  license  to  open  it  as  a  hotel.  There 
had  been  too  many  similar  horrors  of  late,  —  the  lodging- 
house  on  West  Polk  Street,  where  five  persons  had  lost 
their  lives,  the  private  hospital  on  the  North  Side,  where 
fourteen  men  and  women  had  been  burned,  etc.  In  all 
these  cases  it  was  known  that  the  building  ordinances 
had  been  most  flagrantly  violated.  There  was  the  usual 
clamor  for  "  investigation,"  for  "  locating  the  blame,"  and 
"  bringing  the  real  culprits  before  the  Grand  Jury."  It 


THE   COMMON   LOf  327 

should  be  said  that  the  Thunderer  was  opposed  politi 
cally  to  the  City  Hall. 

In  the  architect's  office  there  was  an  air  of  subdued 
excitement.  No  work  was  in  progress  when  Hart  let 
himself  into  his  private  room  from  the  hall.  Instead, 
the  men  were  poring  over  the  broad  sheets  of  the  news 
papers  spread  out  on  the  tables.  When  he  stepped  into 
the  draughting-room,  they  began  awkwardly  to  fold  up 
the  papers  and  start  their  work.  Cook,  Hart  noticed, 
was  not  there.  The  stenographer  came  in  from  the  outer 
office  and  announced  curtly :  — 

"  The  'phone's  been  ringing  every  minute,  Mr.  Hart." 
She  looked  at  the  architect  with  mingled  aloofness  and 
curiosity.  "They  were  mostly  calls  from  the  papers, 
and  some  of  the  reporters  are  in  there  now,  waiting. 
What  shall  I  say  to  'em  ? " 

"  Say  I  am  out  of  town,"  Hart  ordered,  giving  the 
usual  formula  when  reporters  called  at  the  office.  Then 
he  went  back  to  his  private  room  and  shut  the  door.  He 
dropped  the  bulky  newspaper  on  the  floor  and  tried  to 
think  what  he  should  do.  There  were  some  memoranda 
on  the  desk  of  alterations  which  he  was  to  make  in  a 
country  house,  and  these  he  took  up  to  examine.  Soon 
his  desk  telephone  rang,  and  when  he  put  the  receiver  to 
his  ear,  Graves's  familiar  tones  came  whispering  over  the 
line.  The  contractor  talked  through  the  telephone  in  a 
subdued  voice,  as  if  he  thought  to  escape  eavesdropping 
at  the  central  office  by  whispering. 

"Is  that  you,   Hart?    WTiere  have  you  been?     I've 


328  THE   COMMON   LOT 

been  trying  to  get  you  all  the  morning.  Say,  can't  you 
come  over  here  quick  ?  " 

"What  do  you  want?"  the  architect  demanded 
sharply.  The  sound  of  the  man's  voice  irritated 
him. 

"Well,  I  want  a  good  many  things,"  Graves  replied 
coldly.  "I  guess  we  had  better  get  together  on  this 
business  pretty  soon." 

"  You  can  find  me  over  here  the  rest  of  the  morning," 
Hart  answered  curtly. 

There  was  a  pause  of  several  seconds,  and  then  the 
contractor  telephoned  cautiously :  — 

"  Say,  I  can't  leave  just  now.  That  Dutchman's  in 
here  pretty  drunk,  and  I  don't  want  him  to  get  loose. 
Come  over,  quick ! " 

"  All  right,"  the  architect  muttered  dully,  hanging  up 
his  telephone.  He  was  minded  to  refuse,  but  he  realized 
that  it  would  be  best  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  Some 
plan  of  action  must  be  decided  upon.  Meyer  was  one  of 
the  officers  and  directors  of  the  Glenmore  Hotel  Corpo 
ration.  The  architect  and  a  couple  of  clerks  in  the 
contractor's  office  were  the  other  dummies  in  this  corpo 
ration,  which  had  been  organized  solely  to  create  bonds 
and  stock  and  to  escape  personal  liability. 

Hart  gathered  up  the  memoranda  on  his  desk,  and 
telling  the  stenographer  that  he  was  going  out  to  Evers- 
ley  to  see  the  Dixon  house,  he  left  the  office.  As  he 
stepped  into  the  hall,  he  met  Cook,  who  had  just  come 
from  the  elevator.  He  nodded  to  the  draughtsman  and 
hailed  a  descending  car. 


THE   COMMON   LOT  329 

"  Say,  Hart,"  Cook  said  in  a  quiet  voice,  "  can  I  have 
a  word  with  you  ?  " 

Hart  stepped  back  into  the  hall  and  waited  to  hear 
what  the  draughtsman  had  to  say. 

"I  must  have  been  pretty  near  crazed  last  night,  I 
guess,"  Cook  began,  turning  his  face  away  from  the 
architect,  "  and  I  said  things  I  had  no  call  to  say." 

"  Come  in,"  Hart  murmured,  unlocking  the  door  to  his 
private  office. 

"Of  course,  it  wasn't  my  business,  anyway,"  Cook 
continued,  "to  accuse  you,  no  matter  what  happened. 
But  I  saw  a  friend  of  mine  this  morning,  a  man  on 
the  Thunderer,  and  he  had  just  come  from  the  city  hall, 
where  he'd  been  to  examine  the  Glenmore  plans.  He 
says  they're  all  right.  Same  as  ours  in  the  office.  I 
can't  understand  what  happened  to  the  old  thing  unless 
Graves  —  Well,  that's  not  our  business." 

There  was  a  pause,  while  the  two  men  stood  and  looked 
at  each  other.  Finally  Cook  added :  — 

"  So  I  wanted  to  tell  you  I  was  wrong,  —  I  had  no  call 
to  talk  that  way." 

"  That's  all  right,  Cook,"  the  architect  replied  slowly. 
Somehow  the  man's  apology  hurt  him  more  than  his 
curses.  They  still  stood  waiting.  Suddenly  Hart  ex 
claimed  :  — 

"You  needn't  apologize,  man!  The  plans  are  all  right. 
But  that  doesn't  let  me  out.  I  knew  what  Graves  was 
going  to  do  with  'em.  I  knew  it  from  the  start." 

"What  do  you  say?"  the  draughtsman  demanded, 
bewildered. 


330  THE   COMMON   LOT 

"The  hotel  was  a  job  from  the  start,"  Hart  repeated. 

There  was  another  pause,  which  was  broken  by  Cook. 

"Well,  I  suppose  after  this  you  won't  want  me  any 
more  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  not,"  the  architect  answered  in  a  colorless 
tone. 

"  All  right ;  I'll  go  to-day  if  you  say  so." 

"As  you  please." 

And  they  parted.  Cook  was  an  honest,  whole-souled 
man.  It  was  best  that  he  should  leave  the  office,  Hart 
reflected,  as  he  went  down  in  the  elevator  —  best  for 
Cook  and  for  him  too.  The  draughtsman's  admiration  for 
him  had  been  his  daily  incense,  and  it  would  be  intoler 
able  to  see  him  daily  with  this  matter  between  them,  even 
if  Cook  would  stay. 

Hart  found  Graves  in  his  inner  office,  while  a  clerk 
held  at  bay  a  roomful  of  men  who  wanted  to  get  at  the 
contractor.  Graves  looked  serious,  but  undisturbed, 
manifesting  no  more  outward  emotion  than  if  he  had 
come  from  the  funeral  of  a  distant  relative. 

"  It's  a  pretty  bad  mess,  ain't  it  ? "  he  said  to  the 
architect,  offering  him  a  cigar.  "  I  guess  you  were  right. 
Those  first  story  walls  weren't  solid.  They  must  have 
bulged  and  pulled  the  whole  business  down.  ...  Of 
course  the  papers  are  hot.  They  always  yap  consider 
able  when  anything  happens.  They'll  spit  fire  a  week 
or  so,  and  then  forget  all  about  it.  Everything  is  straight 
over  at  the  city  hall  so  far.  There'll  be  the  coroner's  in 
quest,  of  course.  But  he  won't  find  much.  The  only 
danger  is  this  cuss  Meyer.  He's  been  on  a  spree  and  is 


THE   COMMON   LOT  331 

pretty  well  shook  up.  If  they  get  hold  of  him,  and  ask 
him  questions  at  the  inquest,  he's  liable  to  tell  all  he 
knows,  and  more  too.  What  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  take 
care  of  the  Dutchman." 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  about  the  inquest  ?  "  Hart 
asked  abruptly. 

"  Do  ?  Well,  the  best  thing  for  all  of  us  who  have  been 
concerned  with  the  Glenmore  is  to  be  called  out  of  the  city 
for  two  or  three  weeks  or  so.  I  have  got  to  go  to  Phila 
delphia  to-night  or  to-morrow,  if  I  can  get  away.  Gotz 
will  be  here  to  go  on  the  stand  if  they  want  to  get  after 
the  hotel  corporation.  They  won't  make  much  out  of 
him.  Now,  if  you  can  take  care  of  the  Dutchman  —  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Graves  looked  at  the  architect  critically  before  an 
swering. 

"  Don't  lose  your  nerve,  Hart.  It'll  come  out  all  right. 
I've  seen  my  lawyer  this  morning,  and  I  know  just  what 
they  can  do  with  us,  and  it  ain't  much.  They  can  get 
after  the  building  department,  but  they're  used  to  that. 
And  they  can  bring  a  civil  suit  against  the  corporation, 
which  will  do  no  harm.  You  keep  out  of  the  way  for  a 
while,  and  you  won't  get  hurt  a  particle.  Take  the 
Dutchman  up  to  Milwaukee  and  drown  him.  Keep  him 
drunk  —  he's  two-thirds  full  now.  Lucky  he  came  here 
instead  of  blabbing  to  one  of  those  newspaper  fellers ! 
Keep  him  drunk,  and  ship  him  up  north  on  the  lakes. 
By  the  time  he  finds  his  way  back,  his  story  won't  be 
worth  telling." 

Hart  looked  at  the  big  mass  of  a  man  before  him, 


332  THE   COMMON   LOT 

and  loathed  him  with  all  his  being.  He  wanted  to  take 
him  by  one  of  his  furry  ears  and  shake  the  flesh  from 
his  bones.  The  same  impulse  that  had  prompted  him  to 
admit  his  guilt  to  Cook,  the  impulse  to  free  his  mind  from 
the  intolerable  coil  of  fraud,  cost  what  it  might,  was  stir 
ring  again  within  him. 

"  Well  ?  "  Graves  inquired. 

"  I  am  going  to  quit,"  the  architect  said,  almost  invol 
untarily.  "I'm  sick  of  the  business,  and  I  shan't  run 
away.  You  can  look  after  Meyer  yourself  —  " 

"  Perhaps  you're  looking  for  some  money,  too  ?  "  the 
contractor  sneered. 

"No  more  of  yours,  I  know  that!"  Hart  answered, 
rising  from  his  chair  and  taking  his  hat.  "  I'm  sick  of 
the  whole  dirty  job,  and  if  they  want  me  to,  I'll  talk,  too, 
I  suppose." 

"You  damned,  white-livered  sneak!  Ain't  you  got 
enough  gut  in  you  to  sit  tight?  You  — " 

But  the  contractor  was  swearing  at  the  blank  wall  of 
his  office. 

When  the  architect  reached  the  street  he  hesitated. 
Instead  of  taking  the  train  for  Eversley,  as  he  had  in 
tended  to  do,  he  got  on  an  electric  car  that  ran  far  out 
into  the  northern  suburbs.  He  kept  saying  to  himself 
that  he  wanted  time  to  think,  that  he  must  think  it  all 
out  before  he  returned  to  his  office.  For  he  was  not  yet 
sure  that  it  would  be  best  to  stay  and  bear  the  brunt  of 
the  coming  investigation,  as  he  had  said  to  the  con 
tractor.  He  was  not  clear  whether  that  would  do 
any  good. 


THE   COMMON   LOT  333 

But  he  did  not  think.  Instead,  he  brooded  over  the 
visions  of  the  past  night,  which  beset  him.  When  the 
car  stopped  he  got  out  and  walked  north  along  the  lake 
shore,  vaguely  intending  to  reach  Eversley  in  that 
way.  He  was  still  trying  to  think,  but  he  saw  nothing 
clearly  —  nothing  but  that  terrible  picture  of  the  burn 
ing  hotel,  the  dying  men  and  women.  Thus  he  walked 
on  and  on,  still  trying  to  think,  to  find  himself.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

.  .  .  HE  had  been  lying  there  long  hours  close  to  the 
warm  earth  that  was  preparing  for  a  new  life.  The  thin 
branches  of  the  trees  rose  bare  and  severe  between  him 
and  the  blue  sky,  mementos  of  the  silent  winter.  The 
ground  about  their  trunks  was  matted  with  dead  leaves, 
through  which  nothing  green  had  yet  pushed  its  way. 
Nevertheless,  the  earth  seemed  yeasty  with  promise. 
The  intense,  unwonted  heat  of  the  April  days  had  broken 
the  crust  of  soil  and  set  the  sap  of  life  in  motion  once 
more.  The  air  was  heavy  with  earthy  odors,  —  a  fra 
grant  forecast  of  Nature's  regeneration.  Deep  down  in 
the  little  ravines,  and  among  the  pools  of  the  meadow- 
land  beyond,  frogs  were  croaking  harshly,  filling  the 
solitude  of  the  still  slumbering  woods  with  the  clamor 
of  awakening  life.  And  through  the  brown  tree  trunks, 
above  the  tracery  of  the  topmost  branches,  over  the  flat 
fields,  there  swam  the  haze  of  earliest  spring  —  a  vague 
atmosphere  of  renascence,  the  warm  breath  of  mother 
earth. 

The  man  lay  there,  empty  of  thought,  feeling  remotely 
the  mighty  movement  of  things  around  him  —  an  inert 
mass  in  a  vital  world.  The  odors  of  the  earth  stirred  in 
him  faintly  old  sensations  of  vivid  springtimes  in  his 

334 


THE   COMMON   LOT  335 

youth,  when  the  ecstasy  of  the  great  world  of  sun  and 
sky  and  cloud,  of  distant  fields  and  mounting  uplands, 
had  thrilled  his  heart.  He  saw  again  the  morning  mist 
swimming  above  the  little  Wisconsin  lakes  where  he  used 
to  hunt,  and  felt  the  throb  of  joy  for  the  on-coming  spring. 
And  he  remembered  how  this  outer  world  had  spoken  to 
him  one  day  while  he  was  sitting  at  his  work  in  Paris. 
Something  imperceptible  had  crept  into  the  room  over  the 
endless  roofs,  and  called  to  him  in  a  low,  persistent  voice. 
Then  he  had  listened,  joyously  putting  aside  his  task, 
and  obeyed  the  invitation,  wandering  idly  forth  into  the 
germinating  fields,  which  in  some  mysterious  way  had 
purified  his  soul  of  all  petty  things.  In  his  youth  that 
experience  had  come  to  him  again  and  again,  an  impulse 
from  beyond  his  world,  which  had  led  him  forth  from 
himself,  from  the  soil  of  living,  to  fresh  vigor  and  purity. 
Latterly  there  had  come  to  him  no  call  like  this ;  he  had 
known  no  abandonment  of  self  in  the  enveloping  force 
of  Nature,  no  purification  of  spirit.  The  trees  and  the 
grass,  the  earth  and  the  sky,  all  the  multitudinous  voices 
of  unconscious  life,  had  not  spoken  to  him.  Shut  within 
himself,  driven  by  the  bitter  furies  of  his  own  little  being, 
he  had  worked  from  season  to  season,  forgetting  the  face 
of  Nature.  True,  he  had  lived  the  outdoor  life  of  the 
world,  passed  through  the  beautiful  fields  each  season, 
just  as  he  had  gone  to  the  theatre  or  the  opera.  But  the 
earth  had  not  spoken  to  him,  alone,  personally,  out  of  her 
abundant  wisdom,  garnered  through  the  limitless  years. 
For  all  the  period  of  his  maturity  he  had  forgotten  the 
great  mother  of  life. 


336  THE  COMMON  LOT 

Now,  wrecked  and  bruised,  lie  lay  there  on  her  breast, 
as  a  sick  man  might  lie  in  the  silent  room  of  a  hospital 
and  listen  to  the  large  commotion  of  life  without.  He 
was  content  to  rest  there  on  the  warm  earth,  waiting  and 
listening  for  the  voice  which  should  come  from  beyond, 
content  to  forget  himself,  —  a  creature  that  had  been  in 
dustriously  shaped  for  eight  busy  years,  a  creature  of  the 
city  and  of  men,  with  a  self  that  was  his  in  part  only,  and 
was  mixed  with  all  those  others  whom  he  had  touched. 
That  figure  of  deformity,  made  in  the  strife  of  the  city, 
he  no  longer  recognized  to  be  his.  The  richer  heart  of 
youth,  with  its  pictured  hopes,  the  beauty  of  early  days, 
came  back  to  him  and  blessed  him.  .  .  .  The  sun  sank 
into  the  deepening  blue  haze  of  the  heavens ;  the  thin 
shadows  of  the  trees  faded  from  the  brown  earth;  the 
south  wind  from  the  prairies  began  to  rise,  blowing 
strongly,  scented  by  the  breeding  land  over  which  it  had 
come.  And  as  the  day  drew  to  its  close,  the  murmuring 
voices  of  re-created  life  ascended  from  all  parts  of  the 
earth  with  a  strengthened  note.  The  tree-toads  were 
chorusing  in  the  damp  hollows,  and  the  spice  of  roots  and 
mould  sucked  out  by  the  hot  sun  was  descending  once  more 
in  damp  fragrance  to  the  earth.  The  moist,  crumbling  soil 
beneath  the  man's  body  was  opening  itself — stirring, 
awakening,  preparing,  for  the  gigantic  tasks  of  renewal,  of 
re-creation,  of  conception  and  birth.  An  immense,  power 
ful,  impersonal  life,  the  greatest  Life  of  all,  was  going 
forward  all  about  him.  In  the  midst  of  this  large  mystery 
he  felt  that  he  was  but  an  atom  —  an  accident  which 
counted  for  nothing. 


THE  COMMON  LOT  331 

That  terrible  vision  of  dying  men  and  women  no  longer 
haunted  the  man's  mind.  The  catastrophe  which  had 
shaken  him  to  the  roots  of  his  being  sank  into  its  place 
behind  the  long  procession  of  those  acts,  which  had 
made  him  what  he  was.  Now,  at  last,  he  began  to  think 
coherently,  to  see  himself  in  the  whole  of  his  being,  step 
by  step,  as  he  had  come  to  be.  The  old  man's  death  and 
funeral  rose  before  him,  and  he  remembered  his  restless 
preoccupation  with  the  money  so  soon  to  be  his,  while 
others  sorrowed  and  prayed.  Then  came  the  will,  which 
he  had  resented,  and  the  growing  lust  for  the  money  that 
had  slipped  from  his  grasp.  Born  of  that  lust,  bred 
in  envy  and  hot  desire,  was  the  will  to  succeed.  From 
the  first  day  of  his  struggle  for  success  there  came 
before'  his  eyes  the  man  Graves.  The  contractor's 
fat,  bearded  face  was  the  sordid  image  of  his  sin,  fa 
miliar  in  its  cupidinous  look.  It  was  the  image  of 
that  greed  to  which  he  had  submitted  himself,  with 
which  he  had  consented  to  do  evil.  From  the  very  hour 
when  he  had  caught  the  contractor's  eye  in  the  Canostota, 
and  the  two  had  committed  fraud  over  the  weight  of  steel 
in  an  I-beam,  there  had  set  forth  a  long,  long  train  of 
petty  dishonesties,  which  had  created  in  him  the 
vitiating  habit  of  insincerity.  One  by  one  he  recalled 
the  fraudulent  works  in  which  he  had  had  a  part, — the 
school  from  which  he  had  tried  to  steal  some  of  the 
money  his  uncle  had  denied  him,  and  finally  this  hotel, 
which  had  crumbled  at  the  touch  of  fire.  That  was  the 
strange,  dramatic  climax  of  the  story,  fated  so  to  be  from 
the  first  petty  lust  for  money,  from  the  first  fraud. 


338  THE   COMMON    LOT 

Greed,  greed!  The  spirit  of  greed  had  eaten  him 
through  and  through,  the  lust  for  money,  the  desire  for 
the  fat  things  of  the  world,  the  ambition  to  ride  high 
among  his  fellows.  In  the  world  where  he  had  lived 
this  passion  had  a  dignified  name ;  it  was  called  enter 
prise  and  ambition.  But  now  he  saw  it  for  what  it  was, 
— greed  and  lust,  nothing  more.  It  was  in  the  air  of  the 
city  which  he  had  breathed  for  eight  years.  ...  In 
his  pride  he  had  justified  knavery  by  Success.  He  had 
judged  himself  mean  and  small  merely  because  he  had 
failed  to  cheat  and  steal  and  trick  "in  a  large  way." 
Only  the  little  and  the  weak  need  be  honest;  to  the 
strong  all  things  were  right  —  he  had  said  glibly.  Now, 
for  the  first  day  since  the  strength  of  his  manhood,  he 
saw  acts,  not  blurred  by  his  own  passions,  not  shifting 
with  the  opinions  of  the  day ;  but  he  saw  them  fixed  and 
hard,  —  living,  human  acts,  each  one  in  its  own  integrity, 
with  its  own  irrevocable  fate ;  acts  expressed  in  lowered 
eyelids  of  consent,  in  shrugs,  in  meaningful  broken 
phrases;  acts  unprofessional,  sharp,  dishonest,  criminal. 

He  lay  in  the  gathering  twilight,  listened,  and  saw. 
And  at  last  the  soul  of  the  man,  which  had  been  long  in 
hiding,  came  back,  and  flowed  into  him  once  more.  A 
deep,  new  longing  filled  his  heart,  a  desire  to  be  once 
again  as  he  had  been  before,  to  rise  from  his  debasement 
and  become  clean,  to  slough  off  this  parasitic  self  into 
which  he  had  grown  all  these  years  of  his  strife  in 
the  city,  to  be  born  anew  like  the  springtime  earth  — 
such  longings  as  come  to  men  when  they  are  sickened 
with  the  surfeit  of  their  passions. 


THE   COMMON  LOT  339 

.  .  .  He  knew  now  why  his  wife  had  left  him.  She 
had  felt  the  leper  taint,  which  had  been  eating  at  his 
heart  all  the  years  of  their  marriage,  and  had  repudiated 
it.  She  had  cried  out  against  the  mere  getting  and 
spending  of  money,  to  which  low  ebb  those  lofty  ambi 
tious  of  his  youth  had  descended  before  her  eyes.  She 
had  loved  him  as  the  creator,  the  builder;  and  he  had 
given  her  no  visions,  but  only  the  sensualities  of  modern 
wealth.  "Let  us  begin  again  and  live  the  common  life," 
she  had  cried  out  to  him.  "  Let  us  live  for  work  and  not 
for  money. "  He  had  put  her  aside  with  contempt,  and  re 
fused  to  open  the  dark  places  of  his  life  to  her.  Now  he 
knew  that  she  had  done  well  to  leave  him  to  his  own  day  of 
judgment.  And  the  first  impulse  in  the  man's  new  soul 
was  to  go  to  her,  humbly,  and  say  to  her :  "  You  were 
right.  I  have  sinned  against  myself,  against  you,  against 
life,  all  along  the  way.  Will  you  accept  my  repentance, 
and  love  me  again  from  the  beginning,  knowing  now  the 
truth  ?  "  Ardently  he  desired  to  hear  her  answer ;  but 
his  heart  left  him  in  doubt  as  to  what  that  answer  might 
be.  For  he  understood  at  last  that  he  had  never  known 
this  woman,  who  had  been  his  wife  for  eight  years. 

Nevertheless,  despite  this  hunger  of  his  heart  for  the 
woman  he  loved,  there  rose  in  him  slowly  a  purging  sense 
of  relief  from  crime  and  sin  committed.  It  had  passed 
away,  was  put  off  from  himself.  Surely  he  was  to  come 
once  more  into  peace !  The  upspringing  life  of  the  reincar 
nated  earth  chanted  all  about  him  but  one  song :  "  Here 
I  leave  my  uncleanness.  Life  is  strong  and  good.  There 
is,  for  all,  forgiveness  and  peace.  Here  I  bury  the  filth 


340  THE   COMMON    LOT 

of  my  deeds,  and  renew  my  hope."  Thus  man  rises  again 
and  again  from  the  depths  of  his  abasement ;  thus  springs 
in  him  a  new  hope,  a  vital,  imperishable  element,  the 
soul  of  his  being;  and  he  is  prepared  afresh  for  the 
struggle.  Deep  within  him  there  lies  forever  the  uncon 
querable  conviction  of  his  power  to  rise,  to  renew  himself. 

So,  after  the  tempest  of  debauch,  little  men  wake  from 
their  carnal  desires,  and,  leaving  behind  them  the  un- 
cleanness  of  their  flesh,  go  forth  into  the  pure  morning, 
subdued  and  ashamed,  yet  irresistibly  sure  that  life  is 
good  and  holds  forgiveness  and  hope  for  them.  With 
the  new  day  they  will  become  like  their  dreams,  clean 
and  pure.  Thus,  also,  those  larger  men,  not  eaten  by 
bodily  lusts,  those  greater  sinners  who  are  caught  on 
the  whirling  spikes  of  bolder  passions,  who  are  torn  and 
twisted  —  these,  also,  return  at  certain  hours  to  the  soul 
within  them,  and  renew  there  the  pure  fire  of  their 
natures,  so  that  they  may  enter  again  the  endless  con 
test  having  hope  and  health.  Thus,  above  all,  the  great 
heart  of  things,  the  abundant  mother  of  life,  the  earth, 
renews  herself  eternally  according  to  the  laws  of  her 
being,  and  comes  forth  afresh  and  undiminished  for  the 
business  of  living. 

The  mere  lump  of  man  lying  there  inert  upon  the 
ground  felt  this  great  process  of  renewal  all  about  him, 
and  sucked  in  fresh  life  and  health.  In  like  manner, 
years  before,  in  his  youth,  he  had  gone  down  to  the 
sea,  and  there  had  known  something  of  this  mysteri 
ous  sensation  of  renewal.  His  body  plunged  in  cool, 
black  sea-water,  he  had  drawn  through  the  pores  of 


THE   COMMON   LOT  341 

his  flesh  the  elemental  currents  of  life.  He  longed  now 
to  escape  again  from  men,  to  go  down  to  the  sea  and 
touch  those  waters  washing  in  from  their  remote  tidal 
courses  up  and  down  the  earth.  By  such  means  Nature 
cleanses  and  teaches  man.  Heedless  of  man,  uncon 
cerned  with  his  follies  and  vices,  impersonal,  irresistible, 
majestic,  she  receives  his  head  upon  her  breast,  and 
renews  within  him  his  spirit,  —  the  power  to  battle,  the 
power  to  live. 

The  fruitful  earth  holds  in  her  bosom  death  and  life, 
both  together,  and  out  of  her  comes  health.  In  like 
manner  there  lie  in  the  heart  of  man  diverse  instincts, 
—  seeds  of  good  and  evil,  ready  to  germinate.  For  long 
seasons  seeds  of  one  kind  burst  forth  in  the  soil  of  a 
man's  nature  and  thrive.  Accident,  the  intricate  web 
of  fate,  gives  them  their  fit  soil,  their  heat,  their  ger 
minating  impulse.  And  the  world  about  them,  seeing 
the  fruit  of  these  seeds  alone,  calls  the  man  good  or  bad, 
and  thus  makes  its  rude  analysis  of  character,  as  some 
thing  set  and  fixed,  stamped  upon  the  soul  forever.  But 
in  their  own  time  other  seeds,  perchance  ripening  late 
and  slowly,  come  to  their  day  of  germination,  seeds  of 
unlike  nature,  with  diverse  fruit.  Such  sprout  and  send 
their  life  forth  into  the  man,  creating  a  new  nature  which 
the  world  will  not  recognize  as  his.  Thus  it  was  hap 
pening  with  this  man :  commingled  in  his  heart  and 
brain  there  had  lain  diverse  seeds  of  many  kinds,  — 
seeds  of  decay  and  seeds  of  life.  Impulses  of  creative 
purpose,  of  unselfish  work  —  these  had  been  long  dor- 


342  THE  COMMON  LOT 

mant;  impulses  of  lust  and  greed  and  deceit  —  these 
had  grown  rankly  in  the  feverish  life  of  the  city  until 
they  had  flowered  in  crime.  Now  had  come  to  him  the 
time  of  fate ;  the  first  harvest  of  his  acts  was  garnered ; 
and  the  new  seeds  of  his  life  were  ready  to  wake  from 
their  sleep  in  the  depths  of  his  being,  to  put  forth  their 
energies,  their  demands.  Some  great  shock  —  the  agony 
of  dying  men  and  women  —  had  quickened  this  new 
growth.  So  happened  the  miracle  of  rebirth,  hidden  far 
away  from  all  human  observation,  first  revealing  itself  in 
the  consciousness  of  purification  and  renewed  health. 

The  song  of  the  springtime  earth  rose  ever  upward, 
calming  and  healing  the  man,  who  at  last  had  caught 
its  message.  It  said  to  him:  "Another  sun,  a  new  day, 
an  earth  ever  fresh  from  the  hand  of  God !  Eternal 
hope  —  the  burial  of  the  corrupt  body  with  its  misdeeds ; 
health,  and  not  decay ;  life,  and  not  death.  For  life  is 
good.  There  is  forgiveness  and  renewal  for  all  those 
who  heed."  .  .  .  Through  the  misty  heavens  above 
the  trees  the  stars  glimmered  faintly.  Over  the  prairie, 
fields,  and  woodland  the  night  wind  passed,  soft,  odor 
ous,  charged  with  the  breath  of  the  earth  in  the  con 
ceiving  time  of  life.  .  .  . 

Under  the  starlight  of  the  spring  night  there  might 
be  seen  the  figure  of  a  man  walking  southward  toward 
the  black  horizon  of  the  great  city.  He  walked  neither 
fast  nor  slow,  but  steadily,  evenly,  as  if  urged  by  one 
powerful  purpose,  —  some  magnetic  end  that  set  his 
nerves  and  his  muscles  to  the  rhythm  of  action. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  architect  had  a  long  time  to  wait  in  Wheeler's 
office  that  morning.  The  lawyer  rarely  came  in  before 
ten,  so  the  stenographer  said,  looking  suspiciously  into 
the  man's  white,  unshaven  face.  She  knew  Hart  quite 
well,  and  she  was  wondering  what  was  the  matter  with 
him  —  whether  he  was  in  trouble  or  had  been  on  a  spree 
overnight.  He  sat  in  one  of  the  armchairs  of  the  outer 
office  provided  for  waiting  clients,  and,  absorbed  in  his 
own  thoughts,  stared  at  the  square  of  green  carpet  beneath 
his  feet.  When  Wheeler  finally  entered,  he  threw  a  care 
less  glance  at  the  seated  figure  and  said  blankly :  — 

"  Come  in  here  ! " 

The  lawyer  opened  the  door  to  his  little  office,  where  he 
had  confessed  many  a  man,  and  without  a  word  pointed 
to  a  chair  beside  his  littered  desk.  Then  he  sat  down 
and  waited,  examining  the  architect's  face  with  his  dis 
passionate  eyes. 

"Everett,  I  wanted  to  see  you  about  something,"  Hart 
began.  Then  he  stopped  as  though  surprised  by  his  own 
voice,  which  sounded  far  away,  unfamiliar,  and  unused. 
The  lawyer  waited  a  moment  for  him  to  continue,  and 
then  he  asked  in  his  indifferent  manner :  — 

"  So  you  wanted  to  see  me  ?  " 
343 


344  THE  COMMON  LOT 

"  Yes,  I  want  to  tell  you  something,"  Jackson  began 
again. 

The  lawyer  wheeled  toward  his  desk,  and  picked  up  a 
little  silver  letter-opener,  which  he  fingered. 

"  About  that  fire  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes  —  that  and  other  things." 

Wheeler  went  to  the  door,  closed  it,  and  returning  to 
his  chair,  wheeled  his  face  away  from  his  cousin. 

"  Well,  what  about  it  ?  " 

"  You  know  —  you  saw  it  in  the  papers  —  how  the 
Glenmore  burned?  It  was  one  of  Graves's  buildings, 
and  I  did  the  plans  for  him.  Well,  the  newspapers  were 
right ;  there  was  crooked  work.  The  plans  were  all 
altered  after  they  had  been  through  the  building  depart 
ment.  Graves  is  in  with  the  whole  gang  over  there. 
He  has  all  the  inspectors  in  his  pocket." 

Then  Hart  paused  again.  He  was  not  saying  what  he 
came  there  to  tell.  His  mind  seemed  strangely  unreliant 
and  confused.  While  he  stumbled,  the  frown  on  his 
cousin's  face  deepened  into  an  ugly  crease  between  the 
eyes.  It  said  as  plainly  as  words,  "  What  in  hell  do  you 
come  here  for,  blabbing  this  to  me  ?  "  Jackson,  reading 
the  look,  caught  himself  and  continued  more  steadily :  — 

"But  I  didn't  come  here  to  talk  of  the  fire.  It's 
about  the  school.  Pemberton  was  right  about  that.  It 
was  crooked,  too.  I  want  to  tell  you  what  I  know 
about  that." 

Wheeler  put  down  the  letter-opener  and  rested  his 
chin  on  the  tips  of  his  fingers.  The  architect  told  his 
story  slowly,  without  excitement,  trying  to  give  all  the 


THE   COMMON   LOT  345 

details  and  the  exact  figures,  busying  himself  with 
being  precise.  The  matter  was  complicated,  and  it  led 
him  to  speak  again  of  the  hotel  and  of  other  affairs,  of 
his  entire  connection  with  the  contractor,  —  to  tell  the 
complete  story  of  his  business  career  in  the  city.  The 
lawyer  did  not  try  to  stop  him,  although  his  face  be 
trayed  no  special  interest  or  desire  to  comment. 

"  Well,  the  upshot  of  the  matter  is,"  Hart  ended, 
"that  I  am  through  with  the  whole  business,  Everett. 
I  am  going  to  get  out  of  it  somehow  and  square  what 
I  can.  And  first,  I  wanted  you  to  know  the  truth  about 
the  school,  and  to  take  this  for  the  trustees." 

He  laid  on  the  desk  a  large,  fat  envelope,  which  he 
had  filled  that  morning  from  his  safety  deposit  box. 

"There's  about  thirty  thousand  there,  in  stocks  and 
bonds  and  some  land.  I  thought  I  wouldn't  wait  to 
put  it  into  cash,"  he  explained.  "  It's  pretty  nearly  all 
I  have  got,  Everett.  Part  of  that  stock  in  the  Glenmore 
which  Graves  gave  me  represented  my  legitimate  com 
mission  on  the  building,  but  I  have  put  that  in,  too. 
You  can  force  Graves  to  make  good  the  rest.  I  can 
figure  out  for  you  what  he  should  pay.  And  I'll  do 
what  I  can  to  help  you  make  him  do  the  right  thing. 
If  you  can't  get  hold  of  Graves,  why,  I'm  ready  to  give 
you  my  personal  note  for  the  rest  and  pay  it  as  soon  as 
I  can." 

Wheeler  poked  the  envelope  on  the  desk  without 
taking  it  up. 

"  Conscience  money  ?  "  he  remarked  slowly.  "  I  don't 
want  your  wad.  I  wish  you  had  chucked  it  in  the 


346  THE   COMMON   LOT 

river,  done  anything  with  it  but  brought  it  here.  I 
fixed  that  matter  up  once,  didn't  I  ?  " 

Hart  was  able  to  realize  the  contempt,  the  ironical 
humor,  with  which  the  lawyer's  tone  was  charged,  and 
his  lips  tightened.  But  he  made  no  reply.  After  the 
experiences  of  the  last  two  days  he  cared  little  for  what 
his  cousin  might  say  or  think.  In  some  manner  he 
had  passed  completely  outside  of  the  world  where  such 
matters  counted.  He  was  for  the  time  dulled  to  all  but 
a  few  considerations. 

"Say,"  the  lawyer  iterated,  "I  thought  we'd  closed 
that  little  matter  for  good.  But  I  can  tell  you  there's 
one  person  who'll  be  tickled,"  he  laughed  disgustedly. 
"And  that's  old  Pemberton.  He  thought  you  were  a 
scamp  from  the  word  go.  Now  he'll  be  well  set  up 
when  the  judge  tells  him  this.  He'll  take  an  irreligious 
pleasure  in  it." 

Jackson  said  nothing,  and  the  two  men  faced  each 
other  sombrely.  Finally  the  lawyer  exclaimed :  — 

"  So  you  lost  your  nerve ! " 

It  had  not  presented  itself  to  the  architect  in  that 
way,  and  he  winced  perceptibly  as  he  replied:  — 

"Well,  you  can  call  it  that.  And  I  guess  that  if  you  had 
seen  those  people  dropping  into  that  burning  building, 
and  known  what  I  knew  about  the  way  it  was  put 
together  —  Well,  what's  the  use  of  talking !  I  am  done 
with  the  whole  thing  —  done  with  it  for  good." 

The  lawyer  eyed  him  sharply,  unsympathetically, 
curious,  in  a  cold  manner,  of  the  psychology  of  the  man 
before  him.  Hart's  sturdy  body,  which  was  a  trifle 


THE   COMMON   LOT  347 

inclined  to  fleshiness,  seemed  to  have  shrunken  and  to 
be  loose  in  his  clothes.  The  bones  of  his  jaw  came  out 
heavily  in  his  unshaven  face,  and  below  his  eyes  the 
skin  was  black,  shading  into  gray.  His  tweed  office 
suit  was  rumpled  out  of  shape,  and  there  were  signs  of 
the  muddy  roads  on  his  trousers  and  boots.  Usually  so 
careful  and  tidy  in  dress,  he  seemed  to  have  lost  for  once 
all  consciousness  of  his  appearance. 

Wheeler  had  never  felt  much  respect  for  his  cousin  as 
a  young  man.  Then  the  lawyer  considered  him  to  be 
somewhat  "  light-weight,"  given  to  feminine  interests  in 
art  and  literature,  feeling  himself  to  be  above  his  homely 
American  environment.  But  since  their  uncle's  death 
Jackson  had  won  his  approval  by  the  practical  ability 
he  had  shown  in  pushing  his  way  in  the  Chicago  world, 
in  getting  together  a  flourishing  business,  and  making 
a  success  of  his  profession.  Now  that  there  was  re 
vealed  to  him  the  uncertain  means  by  which  this  out 
ward  success  had  been  obtained,  he  reverted  easily  to  his 
earlier  judgment.  The  man  was  really  a  light-weight,  a 
weakling,  he  concluded.  The  lawyer  despised  weaklings ; 
they  made  the  real  troubles  in  this  life.  He  could  not 
see  to  its  depth  the  tragedy  before  him,  even  as  the 
stern  Pemberton  might  have  seen  it.  He  merely  saw 
another  nasty  mess,  a  scandal  that  would  probably  get 
about  the  city,  even  if  his  cousin  and  the  contractor 
escaped  the  Grand  Jury  for  this  Glenmore  affair.  He 
had  little  use  for  men  who  went  wrong  and  "  lost  their 
nerve." 

"Well,"  he  said  at  last,  "you  needn't  bother  about 


348  THE   COMMON   LOT 

that  note  just  yet.  You'll  have  troubles  enough  for  one 
while,  I  expect.  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  take  this, 
though,"  —  he  tapped  the  fat  envelope,  —  "  and  lay  the 
matter  before  the  trustees.  I'll  let  you  know  what  they 
decide  to  do." 

"  All  right,"  Hart  answered.  As  he  did  not  rise  im 
mediately  from  his  chair,  the  lawyer  turned  to  his  desk 
with  an  air  of  dismissal.  When  the  architect  at  last  got 
wearily  to  his  feet,  Wheeler  asked,  without  looking 
up:  — 

"  Have  you  seen  that  man  Graves  this  morning  ?  " 

"  No,  I  went  to  the  bank  and  then  came  here  the  first 
thing." 

"  He  was  in  here  to  see  me  late  yesterday.  He  seemed 
afraid  that  you  might  split  on  him  in  this  Glenmore 
business." 

Hart  listened,  his  eyes  looking  over  his  cousin's  head 
far  out  through  the  office  window,  his  mind  concerned 
with  other  matters. 

"Hadn't  you  better  get  out  of  the  city  for  a  few 
weeks  ?  "  the  lawyer  suggested  casually.  "  Take  a  vaca 
tion.  You  seem  to  need  a  rest,  bad.  The  papers'll  quiet 
down  after  a  while  —  they  always  do,"  he  added  explan 
atorily. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  promised  the  contractor 
that  he  would  do  what  he  could  to  keep  Hart  from  mak 
ing  any  trouble.  It  was  obviously  best  for  the  architect 
to  be  out  of  sight  for  the  present,  in  some  safe  place  where 
he  could  not  be  got  at  for  awkward  explanations. 

"  I've  been  thinking  of  going  away  for  a  few  days," 


THE  COMMON  LOT  349 

Jackson  replied  slowly,  a  flush  spreading  over  his  pallid 
face.  "  I'm  going  on  to  the  Falls  to  see  Helen.  But  I 
shan't  hide,  if  that's  what  you  mean.  They  can  find 
me  when  they  want  me.  And  I  shall  be  back  before 
long,  anyway." 

Wheeler  did  not  tell  him  that  the  coroner  had  already 
formed  his  jury,  and  that  the  first  inquiry  into  the 
Glenmore  fire  was  to  begin  the  next  day.  If  the  archi 
tect  had  made  up  his  mind  to  go  to  Vermont,  it  was  just 
as  well  that  he  should  get  away  before  he  could  be  sum 
moned  by  the  coroner. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  taking  another  look  at  his  cousin, 
"whatever  you  do,  get  your  nerve  together.  Men  like 
you  shouldn't  play  with  fire.  They'd  better  stick  to  the 
straight  game." 

The  architect  knew  well  enough  what  that  meant.  If 
he  had  been  some  cunning  promoter  who  had  had  the  wit 
to  swindle  the  public  out  of  any  sum  of  money  that  ran 
into  the  millions,  or  if  he  had  been  some  banker  who  had 
known  how  to  ruin  the  credit  of  an  enterprise  which  he 
wished  to  buy  cheaply,  Wheeler  would  have  extended  to 
him  a  cynical  tolerance,  and  if  his  honesty  were  ques 
tioned,  would  have  admitted  merely  that  "there  were 
stories  about,  of  course — there  always  were  stories  when 
a  man  was  smart  enough  to  make  some  money  quick." 
But,  unfortunately,  he  belonged  to  the  category  of  un 
successful,  petty  criminals,  and  he  "  had  lost  his  nerve." 

He  realized  all  this,  and  yet  in  the  wreck  which  he  had 
made  of  his  life,  he  was  indifferent  to  the  world's  in 
justice.  What  men  thought  or  said  about  him  had  mar- 


350  THE   COMMON   LOT 

vellously  little  importance  just  now.  This  crisis  had 
wonderfully  simplified  life  for  him ;  he  saw  a  few  things 
which  must  be  done,  and  to  these  he  was  setting  himself 
with  a  slow  will.  His  face,  as  he  gazed  down  at  his 
cousin,  held  new,  grave  lines,  which  gave  it  a  sort  of 
manliness  that  it  had  not  possessed  before. 

"  You'd  better  see  Graves  before  you  leave,  and  get  to 
gether  on  this  thing,"  Wheeler  concluded.  "  You  won't 
do  any  good  by  making  a  bad  matter  worse  and  spread 
ing  the  stink,  you  know." 

"  I  can't  see  any  use  in  talking  with  Graves,"  Jackson 
protested  slowly.  "  I  saw  him  yesterday  and  told  him 
my  views.  He  made  me  the  treasurer  of  his  company, 
and  I  was  the  architect  for  the  building.  If  they  get 
me  up  and  ask  me  questions  —  why,  I  shall  tell  what  I 
know  about  it.  That's  all  there  is  to  that." 

"  Well,  we'll  see  about  that  when  the  time  comes,"  the 
lawyer  replied,  and  then  asked  bluntly :  — 

"  Are  you  going  to  tell  Helen  the  whole  story,  too  ?  " 

"  Yes.  That's  why  I'm  going  down  there."  The 
architect's  face  turned  red  with  humiliation  for  the  first 
time  since  he  had  begun  his  story. 

"I  suppose  she'll  have  to  know,"  Wheeler  admitted 
softly.  "  It  will  cut  her  pretty  deep." 

He  was  wondering  whether  she  could  forgive  this  weak 
fellow,  crawling  back  to  her  now,  his  courage  gone, 
broken  for  life,  as  he  judged.  He  suspected  that  she 
might  pardon  him  even  now,  though  she  had  left  him 
inexplicably.  She  would  forgive  her  husband  when  he 
was  at  the  end  of  his  rope ;  she  was  made  that  way.  The 


THE  COMMON  LOT  351 

softness  of  character  in  such  women  irritated  him,  for 
the  moment.  There  were  other  women  whom  he  liked 
and  admired  less  than  her, — Mrs.  Phillips  was  one, — 
who  would  not  tolerate  a  flabby  sinner  like  this  man. 
But  to  Helen,  disgrace  would  make  little  difference, 
perhaps  would  cause  her  to  cling  more  closely  to  the  dis 
honored  man.  And  he  was  sorry  for  it  all,  because  he 
loved  the  woman,  and  he  could  feel  her  tragedy,  though 
he  was  impervious  to  the  man's. 

"Women  have  bum  luck  sometimes,"  he  reflected 
aloud.  "They  have  to  take  all  the  man's  troubles  as 
well  as  their  own."  Then  he  added  not  unkindly: 
"You  had  better  think  well  what  it  means  to  her  and 
to  the  children  before  you  do  anything  to  make  matters 
worse.  I'll  keep  an  eye  on  what  goes  on  here  and  let 
you  know  if  you're  needed  —  if  you  can  do  any  good." 

Neither  offered  to  shake  hands,  and  Hart  went  out  of 
the  office  without  replying  to  the  last  remark.  In  the 
vestibule  of  the  building  he  hesitated  a  moment,  as  if 
to  get  his  bearings,  and  then  slowly  walked  down  the 
crowded  street  in  the  direction  of  his  office.  The  city 
sights  were  curiously  foreign  to  him,  as  if  he  had  come 
back  to  them  after  a  long  period  of  absence.  The  jostle 
of  human  beings  on  the  pavement,  the  roar  of  the  streets, 
were  like  the  meaningless  gyrations  of  a  machine.  With 
a  repugnance  that  weighted  his  steps,  he  turned  in  at  the 
door  of  his  building  and  crowded  into  one  of  the  cages 
that  were  swallowing  and  disgorging  their  human  bur 
dens  in  the  mid-forenoon.  In  his  office  there  had  settled 
an  air  of  listless  idleness,  now  that  Cook,  the  mainspring 


352  THE   COMMON   LOT 

of  the  place,  was  no  longer  at  his  post.  Without  looking 
at  the  accumulated  mail  on  his  desk,  Hart  called  the 
stenographer  and  dictated  to  her  some  instructions  for 
his  partner,  Stewart,  who  had  just  landed  in  New  York 
on  his  way  home  from  a  vacation  in  Europe.  The  girl 
received  his  dictation  with  an  offish,  impertinent  glance 
in  her  eyes  that  said,  "Something's  wrong  with  this 
place,  I  guess."  When  the  architect  had  finished,  she 
said :  — 

"Say,  Graves  was  in  here  twice  this  morning  and 
wanted  me  to  let  him  know  as  soon  as  you  came  in. 
He  wanted  to  know  where  you  were.  What  shall  I  say 
to  him  ?  " 

Hart  thought  a  moment  before  replying.  He  did  not 
wish  to  see  the  contractor,  —  that  was  very  clear,  —  and 
yet  he  was  unwilling  to  seem  to  run  away,  to  avoid  the 
man.  Moreover,  he  realized  vaguely  since  his  talk  with 
his  cousin  that  there  was  a  certain  claim  in  complicity. 
There  was  trouble  ahead  for  them  both,  surely,  and 
Graves  had  his  right  to  be  considered. 

"  If  Mr.  Graves  calls,  bring  him  in  here,"  he  said  to 
the  stenographer,  as  he  turned  to  his  mail. 

He  had  some  final  matters  to  attend  to,  and  then  he 
should  take  the  train.  If  the  contractor  came  back 
before  he  got  away,  he  would  see  him.  Half  an  hour 
later,  while  he  was  still  tearing  open  his  letters  and 
jotting  notes  for  the  answers,  his  door  opened  and 
Graves  walked  in.  He  had  less  assurance  than  on 
the  afternoon  before;  the  strain  of  the  situation  was 
beginning  to  tell  even  on  his  coarse  fibre. 


THE   COMMON   LOT  353 

"  So  you've  come  to ! "  he  exclaimed  with  an  attempt 
to  be  at  his  ease,  taking  a  chair  beside  the  desk. 

"What  do  you  want?"  the  architect  demanded 
sharply. 

"  Say,  did  you  see  the  papers  this  morning  ?  "  Graves 
asked,  ignoring  the  question. 

Hart  shook  his  head;  he  had  no  curiosity  to  know 
what  the  newspapers  were  saying. 

"They're  making  an  awful  kick,  worse  than  I  ex 
pected.  It's  mostly  politics,  of  course.  They've  got 
the  mayor  on  the  run  already.  He's  suspended  the 
head  of  the  department,  and  Bloom  was  a  good  friend 
of  mine.  That'll  scare  the  rest  considerable.  And  then 
there's  talk  of  bringing  civil  suits  against  the  hotel  com 
pany  and  the  officers  individually." 

He  paused  to  see  what  impression  this  news  might 
make  on  the  architect. 

"They  can't  get  much  out  of  me,"  Hart  answered 
quietly.  "  I  turned  over  to  Wheeler  pretty  nearly  every 
dollar  I  have  got.  That's  on  account  of  the  school  busi 
ness,"  he  added,  thinking  the  contractor  would  not  com 
prehend  rightly  his  meaning.  "It  came  out  of  the 
school  and  might  as  well  go  back  to  the  trustees." 

Graves  stared  at  him  in  disgust.  He  had  had  some 
idea  of  forcing  the  architect  to  pay  part  of  the  expense 
of  "keeping  the  City  Hall  quiet."  Now  the  man  had 
outwitted  him  and  put  his  money  beyond  his  reach. 

"  So  you've  seen  Mr.  Wheeler  ?  " 

"  Just  come  from  there." 

"  He  told  you  he'd  help  us  out  of  this  hole  ?  " 
2  A 


354  THE  COMMON   LOT 

"  We  didn't  discuss  it." 

"  I've  seen  to  Meyer  myself.  He's  where  he  can't  do 
no  harm.  And  I  guess  it's  all  right  over  there,"  —  he 
pointed  with  his  thumb  in  the  direction  of  the  city  hall, 
—  "  though  it'll  cost  a  sight  of  money  if  those  fellers 
lose  their  jobs.  Now,  if  we  keep  quiet,  they  can't  do 
nothing  but  bring  their  suits  for  damages.  I  ain't  afraid 
of  that." 

"I  suppose  not,"  Hart  replied  dryly.  "It  doesn't 
touch  you.  They're  all  straw  names  in  the  corporation 
papers  but  mine,  aren't  they  ?  " 

"  Just  now  there's  this  damned  coroner,"  Graves  went 
on,  ignoring  the  last  remark.  "  The  inquest  begins  to 
morrow.  He'll  try  to  fix  the  blame,  of  course,  and  hold 
some  one  to  the  Grand  Jury.  He's  got  to,  to  quiet  the 
papers/' 

"  I  suppose  so,"  Hart  assented  wearily. 

"But  they've  got  nothing  to  go  on  if  you  only  hold 
your  tongue,"  Graves  ripped  out  incautiously.  "And 
you've  got  to  hold  your  jaw ! " 

The  man's  dictatorial  manner  angered  the  architect. 
He  rose  hastily  from  his  desk,  gathering  some  papers 
and  putting  them  into  his  bag. 

"I  told  you  yesterday,  Graves,  that  I  would  have 
nothing  more  to  do  with  you  in  this  Glenmore  business. 
I  don't  see  what  you  came  in  here  for.  Let  them  go 
ahead  and  do  what  they  can.  I'll  stand  for  my  share  of 
the  trouble." 

"  You  —  "  Graves  burst  out.     "  You  —  " 

"  I've    got    an    engagement    now,    Mr.    Graves,  and 


THE   COMMON  LOT  355 

there's  no  use  in  our  talking  this  matter  over  any 
more." 

He  reached  for  his  coat  and  hat. 

"  But  I  tell  you,  Hart,  that  you  can't  be  a  quitter  in 
this  business.  Didn't  your  cousin  tell  you  that,  too  ?  " 

"It  makes  no  difference  to  me  what  he  might  say," 
Hart  retorted  doggedly,  holding  open  the  door  into  the 
hall. 

"  I'll  smash  you,  sure  thing,  if  you  do  me  up  in  this 
dirty  way  ! " 

The  contractor  crossed  the  room  to  where  Hart  stood, 
as  if  he  meant  to  strike  then  and  there.  Hart  looked  at 
him  indifferently.  The  man  disgusted  and  irritated  him ; 
he  wondered  how  he  could  ever  have  submitted  him 
self  to  him.  He  held  the  door  open,  and  Graves  passed 
out  into  the  hall,  which  was  empty. 

"  I'll  smash  you  ! "  he  repeated,  less  loudly. 

"  All  right ! "  the  architect  muttered.  "  I  guess  that 
won't  matter  much  now." 

Graves  kept  by  his  side  in  the  elevator,  and  followed 
him  out  into  the  street. 

"  Say  !  Step  over  to  Burke's  place  with  me,"  he  urged 
in  a  more  conciliatory  tone. 

"  See  here  ! "  the  architect  answered,  stopping  on  the 
sidewalk.  "  It's  no  use  talking,  Graves,  I've  done  with 
you  and  your  methods.  Can't  you  see  that  ?  I  don't  in 
tend  to  get  you  into  trouble  if  I  can  help  it.  But  I  don't 
mean  to  sneak  out  of  this  or  tell  any  lies  to  save  your 
hide.  I'm  on  my  way  out  of  the  city  now,  to  see  my 
family,  and  shall  be  away  for  a  few  days.  Wheeler 


356  THE   COMMON   LOT 

knows  where  I  shall  be,  and  he'll  let  me  know  when  I 
am  wanted.  They  won't  get  around  to  me  for  some  little 
time  yet,  probably.  If  they  summon  me,  why,  I  sup 
pose  I  shall  come  back." 

The  contractor,  hearing  that  Hart  was  about  to  leave 
the  city,  felt  relieved  for  the  moment.  It  would  be 
easier  to  deal  with  his  cousin,  the  lawyer,  who  might  be 
able  to  keep  the  architect  from  making  a  fool  of  himself. 
So  he  walked  on  with  Hart  toward  the  station  in  a 
calmer  frame  of  mind.  As  if  he  realized  the  mistake  he 
had  made  in  trying  to  bully  his  accomplice,  he  began  to 
put  forward  his  personal  difficulties  apologetically. 

"This  fire  has  hit  me  hard.  Of  course  the  Glenmore 
will  be  a  dead  loss,  and  the  banks  have  begun  to  call 
my  loans.  Then  it'll  take  a  lot  of  ready  money  to  keep 
those  fellers  over  there  quiet,  in  case  the  Grand  Jury 
takes  a  hand.  I  was  just  getting  where  I  couldn't  be 
touched  when  this  fire  came,  and  now  I  shall  have  to 
begin  over  pretty  nearly.  You  don't  know,  Hart,  what 
hard  sledding  it's  been  to  build  up  my  business  with 
nothing  back  of  me  to  start  on." 

The  architect  realized  that  Graves  was  making  an 
appeal  to  his  sympathies,  and  although  the  wheedling 
tone,  so  unlike  the  man's  usual  blustering  self-confidence, 
roused  his  contempt,  he  began  to  see  more  dispassionately 
the  contractor's  point  of  view.  The  man  was  fighting  for 
his  life,  and  there  could  be  nothing  reasonable  to  him  in 
a  determination  to  make  a  bad  matter  worse.  For  no 
amount  of  trath  now  could  save  those  hapless  victims  of 
greed  who  had  lost  their  lives  in  the  wretched  building. 


THE   COMMON  LOT  357 

"  I  don't  want  to  ruin  my  family  no  more  than  you  do, 
Mr.  Hart,"  the  contractor  persisted.  "  And  you  can't  make 
me  so  much  trouble  as  you  will  yourself.  You  can  see 
that,"  he  added  meaningly. 

Hart  turned  on  the  man  angrily  :  — 

"  I  have  heard  about  enough,  Graves !  It's  no  use 
your  going  on.  I  tell  you  I  mean  to  come  back  and 
stand  my  share  of  the  trouble — yes  —  if  it  breaks  me  ! 
Do  you  hear  ?  If  it  breaks  me  !  Now  good  day." 

The  contractor  turned  away,  scowling  like  a  dog  that 
had  been  kicked  into  the  street.  Hart  hurried  into  the 
station  and  bought  his  ticket.  He  had  not  looked  up  his 
eastern  connections,  remembering  merely  that  Helen  had 
left  Chicago  by  this  road,  and  he  took  the  first  train  east 
in  his  overwhelming  desire  to  get  to  her,  to  tell  her  all, 
to  submit.  And  already,  as  the  heavy  train  moved  slowly 
out  of  the  station,  he  felt  strangely  relieved  from  the  per 
plexities  of  the  morning.  The  unconscious  physical  in 
fluence  of  mere  motion,  of  going  somewhere,  soothed  his 
irritated  nerves. 

He  had  been  goaded  into  his  final  declaration  to  the 
contractor,  for  he  had  felt  the  ground  slipping  from  his 
resolution  under  the  persistent  appeals  of  the  man.  As 
the  train  shot  out  into  the  prairie,  however,  he  turned 
the  matter  over  in  his  mind  again  and  again,  trying 
to  consider  it  in  all  its  varying  aspects.  After  all, 
was  it  necessary  that  he  should  come  back  as  he  had  said 
in  his  first  singleness  of  resolution  and  bring  on  himself 
and  his  family  the  shame  and  disgrace  of  public  exposure  ? 
He  comforted  himself  with  the  thought  that  he  had  the 


858  THE  COMMON  LOT 

courage  to  tell  his  story,  that  in  leaving  the  city  he  was 
not  merely  running  away  to  escape  the  consequences  of 
his  connivance  with  fraud.  Yes,  he  could  go  back  —  if  it 
were  necessary ;  but  for  the  time  being  he  put  the  question 
out  of  his  mind.  While  the  train  moved  across  the  states, 
his  heart  grew  calmer,  stronger;  whatever  might  be  the 
outcome,  he  knew  that  his  instinct  had  been  right  — 
that  he  had  done  well  to  go  first  to  his  wife.  Then, 
whatever  might  seem  best,  he  could  bring  himself  some 
how  to  do  it. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  old  Jackson  homestead  at  Vernon  Falls  was  a 
high,  narrow,  colonial  house  with  three  gables.  Upon 
the  broad  terrace  facing  the  south  side  there  was  a  row 
of  graceful,  "wineglass"  elms.  Below  the  terrace 
stretched  a  broad,  level  meadow,  which  was  marked 
irregularly  by  a  dark  line  where  a  little  brook  wandered, 
and  beyond  the  meadow  passed  the  white  road  to  Veru- 
lam,  the  nearest  station.  From  this  highway  a  lane  led 
through  copses  of  alder  and  birch  along  the  east  side  of 
the  meadow  to  the  old  house,  which  was  withdrawn 
nearly  an  eighth  of  a  mile  from  the  public  road. 

It  was  an  austere,  silent,  lonely  place.  Powers  Jack 
son,  during  the  last  years  of  his  life,  had  built  a  great 
barn  and  sheds  behind  the  house  with  the  purpose  of 
making  a  stock  farm,  but  since  his  death  these  had  been 
shut  up.  He  had  also  built  along  the  terrace  a  broad 
veranda,  which  contrasted  strangely  with  the  weather- 
beaten,  hand-made  clapboards  of  the  old  building.  The 
gaunt,  lofty  house  seemed  to  be  drawing  itself  away  dis 
dainfully  from  this  frivolous  addition  at  its  base. 

Jackson  had  often  spent  his  long  vacations  at  the  farm 
with  his  mother  when  he  was  at  college.  Yet  that  April 
afternoon,  when  he  came  upon  it  from  the  bend  in  the 

359 


360  THE    COMMON   LOT 

Verulam  road,  it  seemed  to  him  singularly  unreal.  His 
memories  of  the  house  and  the  meadow  in  front  of  it 
had  grown  and  flowered,  until  in  his  imagination  it  had 
become  a  spot  of  tender,  aristocratic  grace,  a  harmony  of 
swaying  elm  branches  and  turfy  lawn,  lichened  stone 
walls  and  marvellous  gray  clapboards.  To-day  it  rose 
bare  and  severe  across  the  brown  meadow,  unrelieved  by 
the  leafless  branches  of  the  elms  that  crisscrossed  the 
south  front.  The  slanting  sun  struck  the  little  panes  of 
the  upper  windows,  and  made  them  blaze  with  a  mys 
terious,  intensely  yellow  fire.  Involuntarily  his  pace 
slackened  as  he  turned  from  the  highroad  into  the 
lane.  The  place  appeared  strangely  silent,  deserted. 
Was  Helen  there  in  the  old  house?  Could  she  under 
stand  ?  Could  she  forgive  him  ?  .  .  . 

The  northern  spring  had  barely  begun.  It  was  cold, 
grudging,  tentative,  scarcely  touching  the  brown  meadow 
with  faint  green.  Hiding  its  charm,  like  the  delicate 
first  bloom  of  Puritan  women,  it  gave  an  uncertain 
promise  of  future  performance  —  of  a  hidden,  reticent 
beauty. 

Jackson  lingered  in  the  lane,  watching  the  sun  fade 
from  the  window  pane.,  antil  the  air  suddenly  became 
chill  and  the  scene  was  blank.  Then,  as  he  stepped  on 
toward  the  house,  he  caught  sight  of  a  woman's  figure 
stooping  in  the  thicket  beside  the  road.  His  heart  began 
suddenly  to  beat,  telling  him,  almost  before  his  eyes  had 
recognized  the  bent  figure,  that  this  was  his  wife.  She 
looked  up  at  last,  and  seeing  him  coming  toward  her,  rose 
and  stood  there,  her  hands  filled  with  the  tendrils  of 


THE   COMMON   LOT  361 

some  plant  that  she  had  been  plucking  up  by  its  roots, 
her  face  troubled  and  disturbed. 

"  Nell ! "  he  called  as  he  came  nearer,  "  Nell ! " 

And  then  he  stopped,  baffled.  For  long  hours  on  the 
train  he  had  thought  what  he  should  say  when  he  met 
her,  but  now  his  premeditated  words  seemed  to  him 
futile.  He  saw  the  gulf  that  might  lie  between  them 
forever,  and  he  looked  hesitatingly  into  her  troubled 
face.  She  was  wonderfully,  newly  beautiful.  Her  hair 
was  parted  in  the  middle  and  rippled  loosely  over  the 
temples  to  the  ears,  in  the  way  she  had  worn  it  as  a  girl, 
a  fashion  which  he  had  laughed  her  out  of.  She  had 
grown  larger,  ampler,  these  last  months,  and  in  her  linen 
dress,  with  its  flat  collar  revealing  the  white  neck,  with 
out  ornament  of  any  sort,  her  features  came  out  strong 
and  distinct.  That  curve  of  the  upper  lip,  which  had 
always  made  the  face  appealing,  no  longer  trembled  at 
the  touch  of  emotion.  There  was  a  repression  and 
mature  self-command  about  her,  as  if,  having  been 
driven  back  upon  her  own  heart,  she  had  recovered  pos 
session  of  herself  once  more,  and  no  longer  belonged  to 
a  man.  She  was  beautiful,  wholly  woman,  and  yet  to  her 
husband  waiting  there  she  seemed  to  be  his  no  longer. 

"Nell,"  he  began  once  more,  still  standing  at  a  little 
distance  from  her,  "I  have  come  here  to  you,  as  you 
said." 

Her  arms  hung  limply  at  her  sides,  with  the  trailing 
plant  drooping  across  her  skirt,  as  though,  thus  taken  by 
surprise,  she  were  waiting  for  him  to  declare  himself. 
He  stepped  nearer  quickly,  his  heart  sick  with  the  fear 


362  THE   COMMON   LOT 

that,  after  all,  it  was  too  late,  that  she  had  passed  beyond 
his  reach. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean !  I  have  come  to  tell  you 
that  you  were  right  when  you  went  away.  You  were 
right  all  along,  and  I  have  been  wrong." 

But  as  he  spoke  she  reached  out  her  arms  to  him,  be 
seeching  him,  drawing  him  to  her,  in  commiseration  for 
him.  She  put  her  arms  on  his  shoulders,  clasping  them 
behind  his  neck,  thus  drawing  him  and  holding  him  from 
her  at  the  same  time.  Her  lips  trembled,  and  her  breath 
fluttered  as  she  looked  into  his  eyes.  .  .  . 

"Francis!  Francis!"  she  murmured,  holding  him  a 
little  from  her  when  he  tried  to  take  her  in  his  arms.  .  .  . 

And  in  her  eyes  and  trembling  mouth  he  knew  that 
she  could  forgive  him ;  but  he  felt  strangely  humble  and 
little  beside  her.  He  saw  himself  in  her  eyes  as  he  had 
never  seen  himself  before.  Slowly  she  drew  him  to  her 
and  kissed  his  lips,  tenderly,  unpassionately. 

"  The  boys  are  over  there  by  the  brook,"  she  said, 
nodding  across  the  meadow. 

They  sat  down  on  the  crumbling  stone  wall  to  wait  for 
them,  and  presently,  catching  sight  of  their  father,  they 
came  tumbling  over  the  wall  with  cries  of  "  Dad,  it's 
dad — he's  come !  "  and  together  they  all  went  on  to  the 
house. 

Mrs.  Spellman  received  her  son-in-law  in  her  equable, 
unknowing  manner,  as  if  she  had  expected  him  to  arrive 
on  that  day.  After  supper  she  took  the  boys  to  their 
room  while  husband  and  wife  sat  in  the  west  parlor, 


THE   COMMON  LOT  363 

which  the  architect  remembered  just  as  it  was  this  day, 
with  the  same  faded  drab  carpet,  the  brass  fire-irons,  and 
worn  furniture.  The  high-backed  walnut  writing-table 
stood  in  its  familiar  corner  beside  the  window.  Outside, 
a  drooping  elm  branch  swept  softly  across  the  glass  pane. 
Nothing  here  was  altered,  nothing  added,  save  the  new 
lives  of  the  modern  generation.  They  watched  the  leap 
ing  flames  lick  the  fire-eaten  bricks  of  the  old  fireplace 
for  a  time,  and  then  he  turned  to  her  with  a  sigh :  — 

"  'Now  I  must  tell  you  the  whole  story,  Nell." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  letting  her  hand  fall  softly  on 
his  arm.  "  Tell  me  everything." 

And  he  began  slowly  to  tell  her  the  story  as  he  had 
lived  through  it  that  night  when  he  lay  exhausted  on  the 
earth  beneath  the  stars  —  the  story  of  his  work  in  the 
city,  of  the  acts  which  for  eight  years  he  had  hidden 
from  all,  even  himself.  He  explained  as  well  as  he  could 
the  tangled  web  of  his  dealings  with  the  contractor  from 
the  day  when  he  had  met  him  in  the  Canostota  until  the 
time  of  the  arrangement  over  the  school  and  the  hotel. 
When  he  came  to  the  end,  to  the  horrible  fire  which  had 
licked  up  the  fraudulent  Glenmore  before  his  own  eyes, 
hot  tears  fell  upon  his  hands,  which  his  wife  held  tightly 
in  hers,  and  he  could  feel  her  body  tremble  against  his. 

"  And  that  was  the  end  !  It  made  me  see  in  one  flash 
what  it  all  meant.  Of  course,  those  men  and  women 
might  have  been  caught  anyway,  no  matter  how  well  the 
building  was  put  up,  —  there's  no  telling,  —  and  Graves 
would  have  done  the  same  job  whether  I  had  been  in 
with  him  or  not.  Still,  that  doesn't  count.  When  I  saw 


364  THE  COMMON  LOT 

them  there,  trapped,  fighting  helplessly  for  their  lives,  I 
felt  as  if  I  had  stood  by  and  let  them  be  murdered  — 
and  made  money  by  it,  too !  " 

The  horror  of  those  minutes  revived  as  he  went  over 
the  story,  and  he  paused  wearily. 

"  Somehow,"  he  resumed,  "  it  was  all  of  a  piece  —  dirty 
work.  Everything  I  had  touched,  pretty  nearly,  since  I 
had  started  seemed  rotten.  It  made  me  sick  all  over. 
.  .  .  Well,  that  was  the  end.  I  went  to  Everett  and 
tried  to  square  the  school  matter  as  well  as  I  could.  I 
gave  him  all  I  had  made  out  of  it  and  more,  —  about 
every  dollar  I  had.  It  leaves  us  where  we  started. 
But,  Nell,  I  knew  you  would  want  me  to  do  that  first 
before  I  came  here." 

It  seemed  a  pitifully  trivial  act,  now  that  he  had  told  it, 
yet  he  was  glad  that  he  could  give  her  this  proof  of  his 
sincerity.  She  said  nothing,  but  she  raised  her  eyes,  still 
filled  with  tears,  to  his  face  with  a  calm,  answering  look. 

"It's  a  bad  story,  as  bad  as  it  could  well  be,"  he 
resumed.  "  I  see  it  clearly  enough  now.  I  wanted  uncle's 
money,  wanted  the  easy  time,  and  the  good  things,  and 
all  that.  Then  when  I  didn't  get  it,  I  went  in  to  make  a 
big  success  and  have  the  things  I  was  after,  anyhow.  I 
saw.  men  out  there  no  more  able  than  I  who  were  making 
a  lot  of  money,  and  nothing  seemed  to  count  so  long  as 
somehow  you  made  good.  I  wanted  to  make  good.  It 
was  a  pretty  cheap  ambition." 

"Yes ! "  she  exclaimed  fervently,  "  cheap !  Oh,  so 
cheap ! " 

Nevertheless  she  did  not  despise  him  as  she  might 


THE  COMMON  LOT  365 

despised  him  at  the  time  of  their  marriage  for  his 
sordid  soul.  Daring  these  eight  months  that  she  had 
lived  by  herself  she  had  come  to  see  more  justly  the 
causes  of  things  —  she  had  grown  wiser.  She  held 
him  now  less  rigidly,  less  remorselessly,  to  her  own  ideal 
of  life.  For  she  had  begun  to  understand  that  the  poison 
which  had  eaten  him  was  in  the  air  he  had  breathed ; 
it  was  the  spirit  of  the  city  where  he  worked,  of  the 
country,  of  the  day  —  the  spirit  of  greed.  It  presented 
itself  to  men  in  the  struggle  for  existence  at  every  turn 
of  the  road,  insidiously  and  honorably  disguised  as  am 
bition  and  courage.  She  saw  the  man's  temptation  to 
strive  with  his  competitors,  as  they  strove  for  the  things 
which  they  held  desirable.  And  she  had  come  to  realize 
that  to  stand  firmly  against  this  current  of  the  day  de 
manded  a  heat  of  nature,  a  character  that  the  man  she 
had  married  and  worshipped,  had  never  possessed.  He 
was  of  his  time  neither  better  nor  worse  than  his  fellows, 
with  their  appetite  for  pleasure,  their  pride  —  that  an 
cient  childish  pride  of  man  in  the  consideration  and  envy 
of  his  kind.  .  .  . 

"  So  you  have  it  all,  and  it's  bad  enough,  God  knows. 
Nell,  can  you  ever  really  forgive  it,  forget  it,  and  love  me 
again  ?  " 

For  answer  she  leaned  toward  him  and  kissed  him, 
understandingly.  Now  that  her  heart  knew  him  utterly, 
with  all  his  cowardice  and  common  failings,  she  might 
still  love  him,  even  foreseeing  the  faltering  and  unideal 
way  of  his  steps,  giving  him,  like  many  women,  her 
second  love,  the  love  that  protects  in  place  of  the  love 


366  THE  COMMON   LOT 

that  adores.  And  with  that  kiss  there  began  for  her  a 
new  marriage  with  the  man  she  had  seen  large  in  her 
dreams,  the  man  who  had  been  her  hero.  .  .  . 

The  elms  swayed  softly  in  the  night  wind,  brushing 
across  the  window  by  their  side.  The  old  house  was 
very  still  with  the  subdued  calm  of  age,  and  man  and 
wife  sat  there  together,  without  words,  looking  far 
beyond  them  toward  the  future  that  was  to  be  theirs. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE  next  day  and  the  next  went  by  in  the  peace  of  the 
old  house.  Now  that  the  event  which  had  so  wholly 
occupied  the  man's  mind  since  the  night  when  the  Glen- 
more  burned  had  come  about ;  now  that  he  was  here  in 
the  old  place,  and  had  his  wife  and  children  once  more, 
he  began  to  consider  personally  the  wreck  of  his  affairs 
which  had  been  left  behind  in  Chicago.  And  he  began 
to  ask  himself  whether,  after  all,  it  was  necessary  for 
him  to  return  to  the  city  and  make  public  his  shame  at 
the  hearing  before  the  coroner.  He  was  not  clear  what 
service  to  justice  or  to  the  dead  who  had  been  sacrificed, 
as  much  through  the  corruption  of  civic  government  as 
by  his  own  wrong-doing,  his  testimony  would  accomplish. 
That  it  would  surely  ruin  him  professionally  was  beyond 
the  shadow  of  a  doubt.  He  could  picture  to  himself 
well  enough  the  ferocious  glee  with  which  the  Thunderer 
would  receive  his  evidence !  Was  it  necessary  to  give 
his  wife  and  his  children  into  the  merciless  hands  of  the 
malicious  newspapers  ? 

The  evening  mail  of  the  second  day  brought  a  letter 
from  Wheeler.  The  coroner's  inquest,  the  lawyer  wrote, 
was  likely  to  drag  on  for  a  week  or  more.  The  coroner 
was  a  Republican,  and  "  had  it  in  for  the  city  administra- 

367 


368  THE   COMMON  LOT 

tion."  He  was  trying,  also,  to  make  all  the  personal  and 
political  capital  that  he  could  out  of  the  affair.  At 
present,  as  Jackson  could  see  from  the  newspapers,  they 
were  engaged  in  examining  minor  witnesses,  —  the  ser 
vants  and  employees  of  the  Glenmore,  the  police  and  the 
firemen,  —  trying  to  account  for  the  origin  of  the  fire. 
So  the  architect  could  be  of  no  use  now,  at  any  rate,  and 
had  better  stay  quietly  where  he  was  until  the  matter 
took  more  definite  shape.  As  far  as  the  coroner's  inquest 
was  concerned,  it  was  a  public  farce,  —  trial  by  newspaper, 
—  and  it  would  be  well  to  wait  and  see  whether  the  affair 
was  to  reach  a  responsible  court.  In  the  meantime  it  was 
understood  that  he  was  ill  at  his  summer  home.  Graves, 
so  Wheeler  added,  had  been  in  to  see  him  again  before  he 
left  the  city.  It  was  foolish  to  irritate  the  contractor  and 
make  the  matter  worse  than  it  was  already,  etc. 

Then  Hart  opened  the  bundle  of  newspapers,  and 
glanced  through  their  padded  pages.  His  eye  was  caught 
immediately  by  an  editorial  caption :  — 

WHO  IS  EESPONSIBLE  FOR  THE    GLENMORE 
TRAGEDY  ? 

The  article  was  a  sarcastic  summary  of  the  results 
thus  far  from  the  inquest,  done  in  the  Thunderer's  best 
manner.  So  far,  the  editorial  writer  pointed  out,  the 
inquiry  had  been  confined  to  examining  chambermaids, 
bell-boys,  and  the  police,  and  to  quarrelling  about  the 
exact  location  of  the  fire  when  it  started.  The  Thunderer 
hoped  that  before  closing  the  inquest  the  coroner  would 


THE   COMMON   LOT  369 

have  the  courage  to  go  higher,  and  to  probe  the  building 
department,  and  to  ascertain  what  Mr.  Bloom's  connec 
tion  with  the  matter  was,  and  whether  his  inspectors  had 
ever  made  a  report  on  the  Glenmore.  Further,  the 
coroner  might  to  advantage  summon  the  officers  of  the 
hotel  company,  who  had  erected  this  fire-trap,  and 
the  architect  whose  plans  for  a  fire-proof  structure  had 
been  so  lamentably  inadequate.  The  Thunderer  under 
stood  that  the  Glenmore  Hotel  Corporation  was  one  of 
those  paper  corporations,  officered  by  clerks,  behind 
which  unscrupulous  capitalists  so  often  shielded  them 
selves.  Of  the  officers  whose  names  appeared  in  the 
papers  of  incorporation,  three  were  clerks  in  the  employ 
of  a  contractor  named  Graves,  who  had  built  the  hotel> 
and  a  fourth  was  a  prominent  young  architect,  who  had 
prepared  the  plans  for  the  building.  The  people  of 
Chicago  wanted  to  hear  what  these  men  had  to  say 
about  the  Glenmore  hotel,  especially  Bloom,  Graves,  and 
Hart.  "  Look  higher,  Mr.  Coroner !  "  the  Thunderer 
concluded  solemnly. 

When  Helen  came  into  the  room  a  little  later,  she 
found  her  husband  plunged  in  thought,  the  sheets  of  the 
newspaper  scattered  about  him. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked  quickly. 

He  picked  up  the  paper  and  handed  it  to  her.  She 
read  the  article  in  the  Triunderer,  her  brow  wrinkling  in 
puzzle  as  she  went  on.  When  she  had  finished  it,  she 
let  it  fall  from  her  hands,  and  looked  at  her  husband 
inquiringly. 
ia 


370  THE   COMMON   LOT 

"They  want  you  to  go  out  there  and  tell  about  the 
building  of  the  hotel  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  dully.  "I  knew  it  would  come 
sooner  or  later.  You  see  I  was  not  only  the  architect, 
but  Graves  made  me  the  treasurer  of  the  corporation.  I 
was  only  a  dummy  like  the  others,"  he  explained.  "  The 
corporation  was  just  Graves !  But  I  told  Everett  that  I 
should  go  back  and  tell  what  I  knew.  Only  he  doesn't 
think  it  necessary,  now  ! " 

"  What  would  happen  ?     What  does  it  all  mean  ?  " 

He  explained  to  her  what  the  legal  results  might  be  in 
case  the  coroner's  jury  held  him  and  others  to  the  Grand 
Jury,  as  criminally  liable  for  the  disaster.  Then,  if  the 
Grand  Jury  found  a  true  bill  against  him,  whenever  he 
returned  to  Chicago  he  could  be  tried  for  manslaughter. 
But  even  if  in  his  absence  he  should  be  held  to  the  Grand 
Jury,  there  were  many  steps  in  the  complex  machinery 
of  legal  justice,  and  he  could  probably  escape  without 
trial.  Evidently  Wheeler,  who  knew  the  involutions  of 
the  district  attorney's  office,  was  counting  on  the  prob 
ability  that  no  one  would  be  brought  to  trial  in  this  hotel 
case,  —  that  the  disaster  would  be  buried  in  that  gulf  of 
abortive  justice  where  crimes  against  the  people  at  large 
are  smothered. 

"  And  in  that  case,"  Hart  concluded,  "  there  would  be 
no  use  in  letting  them  tear  me  to  pieces  in  the  papers  !  " 

"  But  you  must  go  back  ! "  she  exclaimed,  brushing 
aside  his  reasoning.  "You  must  tell  them  all  you 
know  !  " 

"  Everett  doesn't  think  so,"  he  protested,  "  and  I  can't 


THE   COMMON   LOT  371 

see  the  good  of  it,  either.  They  won't  do  anything,  prob 
ably.  It's  just  politics,  the  whole  investigation.  But  the 
newspapers  are  full  of  it  just  now,  and  they  would  hound 
me  to  a  finish.  It  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  get 
work  in  Chicago  for  a  long  time,  if  ever  again.  And  it 
would  cover  you  and  the  boys  with  disgrace  —  that's  the 
worst !  I  have  paid  enough  !  " 

"  But  it  must  be  done,"  she  repeated  in  a  low  voice. 

She  was  not  clear  what  good  might  come  of  his  testi 
mony:  she  was  ignorant  of  the  legal  conditions.  But 
she  had  a  fundamental  sense  of  justice :  men  must  pay 
for  the  evil  they  do,  —  pay  fully  and  pay  publicly.  A 
private  repentance  and  a  private  penance  were  to  her 
incomplete  and  trivial. 

"  I've  got  to  earn  our  living,"  he  urged.  "  You  must 
think  of  that !  If  I  am  shut  out  of  Chicago,  we  must 
begin  somewhere  else  at  the  bottom." 

She  was  not  ready  yet  to  consider  that  question. 

"  You  mustn't  think  of  us,"  she  answered.  "  Francis, 
you  can't  really  pay  for  all  the  wrong  that  has  been 
done.  But  perhaps  the  truth  will  do  some  good.  And 
unless  you  are  ready  to  face  the  open  disgrace,  —  why, 
you  have  done  nothing  !  The  money  you  gave  back  to 
the  trustees  was  nothing.  This  is  the  only  way  ! " 

It  was  the  only  way  for  him,  at  least.  With  his  buoy 
ant,  pliant  nature,  as  she  understood  it,  some  final  act, 
definite,  done  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  that  knew  him,  was 
needed  to  strengthen  the  fibre  of  his  being,  to  record  in 
his  own  soul  its  best  resolve.  For  already  he  had  begun 
to  waver,  to  quibble  with  his  repentance. 


872  THE  COMMON  LOT 

He  had  been  ready  enough  in  the  stress  of  his  first 
feeling  after  the  catastrophe  to  stand  before  the  world 
and  confess  his  share  in  the  wrong  that  had  been  done. 
Then  he  was  eager  to  free  his  mind  of  its  intolerable 
burden.  But  now  that  the  excitement  had  faded,  leaving 
him  to  face  the  difficulties  of  his  future,  he  saw  in  all  its 
fatal  detail  what  public  disgrace  would  mean,  and  he 
drew  back.  It  was  folly  to  invite  ruin ! 

Yet  in  the  end  the  woman  held  him  to  her  ideal.  Late 
that  night  he  consented  to  telegraph  Wheeler  of  his 
immediate  return,  and  to  take  the  first  train  on  the  mor 
row  for  the  west,  there  to  await  the  coroner's  summons. 

"  I  shall  go  on  with  you,  of  course,"  she  said.  "  We 
will  all  go,  —  the  boys,  too.  Mamma  will  stay  and  close 
the  house.  Perhaps  you  can't  get  away  very  soon  after 
it  is  over.  And  I  want  to  be  there  with  yon"  she 
answered  to  all  his  objections. 

"  You  know  what  it  will  mean ! "  he  exclaimed  warningly, 
as  the  last  log  burst  into  ashes  on  the  hearth.  "  Nell,  it's 
worst  for  you  and  the  boys.  It  means  ruin,  nothing  less ! " 

"  Never ! "  she  protested  with  flashing  eyes.  "  Other 
people,  the  newspapers,  can't  make  ruin.  Ruin  is  in 
ourselves.  It  merely  means  that  we  shall  have  to  do 
without  friends,  and  society,  and  things,  especially  things. 
And  I  have  come  to  hate  things.  They  make  one  small 
and  mean.  I  never  thought  we  should  have  them,  when 
we  were  married.  And  I  don't  want  them  for  the  boys, 
either.  There  is  work !  the  best  thing  in  life,  —  work 
for  itself,  without  pay  in  things,  without  bribes  !  We'll 
have  that  and  bread,  Francis  !  " 


THE   COMMON   LOT  373 

"But  the  public  disgrace,"  he  objected,  still  sensitive 
to  the  opinion  of  the  world  in  which  he  had  lived. 

"Better  even  that  than  the  disgrace  between  us,"  she 
whispered.  "  No,  no !  There  is  no  other  way." 

At  least  there  was  no  other  way  to  her  love,  and  that 
love  he  could  not  live  without,  cost  him  what  it  might. 

"  You  are  strong,  Nell ! "  he  confessed  his  admiration. 

"  And  you,  too ! "  she  whispered  back,  her  face  illu 
mined  with  the  courage  of  her  nature. 

Little  Powers,  the  younger  boy,  had  not  been  well,  and 
the  next  morning,  when  he  was  no  better,  Jackson  urged 
that  it  would  be  unwise  to  take  him,  that  he  had  best  go 
back  alone.  But  Helen  would  not  consent,  knowing  that 
he  made  the  most  of  the  child's  illness  to  spare  her  the 
trial  which  was  to  come. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  she  said.  "  Mother  thinks  it  will  do 
no  harm  to  take  him.  And  if  he  is  going  to  be  really 
sick,  it  would  be  better  for  us  to  be  there  in  the  city  than 
here." 

So  they  drove  over  to  Verulam  and  took  the  train. 
After  the  boys  had  been  put  to  bed  for  the  night,  Helen 
came  back  to  the  section  where  the  architect  was  sitting, 
looking  dully  into  the  blank  fields. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  this  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  putting 
a  letter  into  his  hands.  "  I  got  it  just  as  we  were  leaving. 
It's  from  Venetia,  — read  it ! " 

He  took  the  thick  envelope  from  her  hands,  remember 
ing  suddenly  the  girl  as  he  had  last  seen  her,  when  she 
had  summed  him  up  in  one  bitter,  opprobrious  word. 


374  THE   COMMON   LOT 

The  sting  of  that  word  had  gone,  however,  effaced  by  the 
experience  which  he  had  suffered  since,  and  he  opened  the 
letter  listlessly. 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER  SUPERIOR,  —  Do  you  recognize  the 
Forest  Park  postmark  ?  I  am  not  going  abroad  after  all. 
At  least  not  just  yet.  Mother's  gone,  sails  this  week 
with  Mrs.  Ollie  B.  Now  listen,  and  I'll  make  your  hair 
stand  on  end. 

First,  mother!  She's  had  a  grievous  disappointment 
lately.  Colonel  Raymond,  —  you  know  him  of  course,  — 
the  little  gray- whiskered  railroad  man,  mother's  pet  in 
dulgence  for  I  can't  say  how  long,  —  has  at  last  been  freed 
from  the  legal  attachment  of  one  wife  and  is  about  to  take 
another  at  once.  Whom  do  you  think  ?  The  youngest 
Stewart  girl!  !  !  The  wedding  is  for  the  3d  of  June. 
We  are  not  going,  naturally.  Of  course,  it  was  a  crush 
ing  blow  to  poor  mamma,  —  she  put  her  sailing  forward 
a  whole  week  to  escape  from  her  friends.  She  was  posi 
tively  growing  old  under  it. 

I  know  you  don't  like  this,  so  I  cut  it  very  short. 
Now,  prepare !  I  am  going  to  embrace  the  serious  life, 
at  last,  —  I  mean  matrimony.  Really  and  truly,  this 
time.  You  know  the  man,  but  you'd  never  guess :  he's 
our  doctor.  Dr.  Goburn.  Yes  !  Yes  !  !  Yes  !  !  ! 

Mother  threw  a  fit  when  I  told  her,  and  then,  of  course, 
I  knew  I  was  quite  right.  We  are  to  be  married  any  time, 
when  he  finishes  up  the  work  he  has  on  hand,  so  that  he 
can  give  me  some  attention.  We  might  look  in  on  you  in 
your  convent  retirement,  if  sufficiently  urged.  Then  I'll 


THE   COMMON   LOT  375 

tell  you  all  about  it,  and  make  him  show  you  all  the  little 
tricks  I  have  taught  him.  Mamma  still  calls  him  "  that 
fellow,"  but  he's  by  way  of  being  a  very  distinguished 
man  on  account  of  some  bug  he's  discovered.  The  medi 
cal  journals  are  taking  off  their  hats  to  him.  I  read  the 
notices,  —  don't  you  believe  I  am  fast  enough  in  love  ? 

Well,  I  have  had  to  send  mamma  abroad  to  recover  her 
nerves,  and  I  am  out  here  putting  the  place  in  order  as  it 
is  to  be  rented  to  some  awful  people,  whom  you  never 
heard  of.  By  the  way,  the  doctor  isn't  going  to  let  me 
use  my  money,  —  mother  ought  to  thank  him  for  that !  — 
and  he  won't  promise  to  earn  much  money,  either.  He 
has  no  idea  of  keeping  me  in  the  state  to  which  the  Lord 
called  me.  He  says  if  I  want  that,  I  can  marry  Stephen 
Lane  or  any  other  man.  He  means  to  earn  enough  for  a 
sensible  woman  to  live  on,  he  says,  and  if  I  am  not  con 
tent  with  what  he  chooses  to  do  for  me  I  can  go  out  and 
learn  how  to  earn  some  more  for  myself !  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  a  man  who  had  the  nerve  to  talk  that  way  to  the 
woman  he  wants  to  marry  ?  .  .  . 

We  are  going  to  have  a  laboratory  on  the  West  Side, 
—  that  gave  Mrs.  P.  another  fit,  — and  over  it  we'll  have 
our  rooms.  Then  when  he's  made  enough  rabbits  dotty 
with  his  bug,  and  has  written  his  papers,  maybe  we'll  go 
abroad.  .  .  . 

There  are  lots  of  other  things,  your  things,  I  want  to 
talk  over,  but  I  am  afraid  my  pen  is  too  blunt  for  them. 
Only,  I  hope,  oh,  so  much,  dear,  that  you  are  to  be  happy 
again.  Mr.  Wheeler  told  me  that  Jack  was  with  you 
now.  My  love  to  the  Prodigal  Man.  Good-by,  dear.  .  . 


376  THE   COMMON   LOT 

"  Isn't  it  good  !  "  Helen  exclaimed,  with  the  readiness 
of  good  women  to  welcome  a  newcomer  to  that  state 
which  has  brought  them  such  doubtful  happiness. 

"  I  shouldn't  think  he  would  have  been  the  man  to 
satisfy  her,"  Jackson  answered  slowly. 

"I  think  Dr.  Coburn  has  changed  a  good  deal  since 
you  knew  him.  He  had  fine  things  in  him,  and  Venetia 
could  see  them." 

"  I  always  thought  she  was  ambitious,  and  the  reason 
she  didn't  marry  was  because  she  couldn't  find  any  one 
out  there  to  give  her  everything  she  was  after." 

"Perhaps  Venetia  has  seen  enough  already  of  that 
kind  of  thing!" 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THERE  was  a  stir  among  the  reporters  gathered  in  the 
little  room  where  the  coroner's  inquest  on  the  Glenmore 
fire  was  being  held,  when  it  became  known  that  the  ar 
chitect  was  present  and  was  to  be  examined.  Graves's 
man,  Gotz,  the  president  of  the  hotel  company,  had  fin 
ished  his  testimony  on  the  previous  day,  having  dis 
played  a  marvellous  capacity  for  ignorance.  Under  advice 
from  his  employer's  lawyer  he  had  refused  to  answer 
every  important  question  put  to  him,  on  the  plea  that 
it  was  irrelevant.  The  coroner  had  been  scarcely  more 
successful  with  other  witnesses  in  his  endeavors  to  de 
termine  the  exact  causes  for  the  large  loss  of  life  in  the 
new  hotel,  and  his  inquest  was  closing  in  failure.  The 
yelping  pack  of  newspapers  had  already  raised  their  cry 
in  another  field ;  public  interest  in  the  Glenmore  disaster 
had  begun  to  wane  ;  and  it  was  generally  believed  that 
nothing  would  come  of  the  inquest,  not  even  a  hearing 
before  the  Grand  Jury.  The  whole  affair  appeared  to  be 
but  another  instance  of  the  impotence  of  our  system  of 
government  in  getting  at  the  real  offenders  against 
society,  if  they  are  cunning  and  powerful. 

That  morning,  as  the  Harts  were  preparing  to  go  to 
the  hearing  the  doctor  had  called  to  see  little  Powers,  for 

377 


378  THE   COMMON   LOT 

the  child's  feverish  cold  threatened  to  develop  into 
pneumonia.  After  the  doctor  had  gone,  the  architect 
went  upstairs  to  the  sickroom,  where  Helen  was  seated 
on  the  bed  playing  with  Powers,  and  trying  to  soothe 
him.  As  he  stood  there  silently  watching  them,  he  was 
tormented  by  a  sudden  fear,  a  terrible  presentiment,  that 
the  child  was  to  die,  and  thus  he  was  to  pay  for  his  sins, 
and  not  only  he,  but  Helen.  She  was  to  pay  with  him, 
even  more  than  he !  He  tried  to  rid  himself  of  the 
hysterical  and  foolish  idea,  but  it  persisted,  prompted  by 
that  rough  sense  of  retribution  —  an  acknowledgment  of 
supreme  justice  —  that  most  men  retain  all  their  lives. 

"  I  shall  have  to  go  now,"  he  said  to  her  at  last.  "  But 
you  mustn't  think  of  coming.  You  must  stay  with  the 
boy." 

"  Oh,  no ! "  Helen  exclaimed  quickly,  looking  closely  at 
the  child.  "  The  doctor  says  there  is  nothing  to  fear  yet. 
Everything  has  been  done  that  I  can  do,  and  your  mother 
will  stay  with  him  while  we  are  away.  It  won't  be  long, 
anyway ! " 

"Why  do  you  insist  upon  coming?"  he  protested 
almost  irritably.  "It  won't  be  exactly  pleasant,  and 
you  may  have  to  hang  around  there  for  hours." 

"Don't  you  want  me  to  go  with  you,  and  be  there, 
Francis?"  she  asked  a  little  sadly. 

He  made  no  reply,  feeling  ashamed  to  confess  that  it 
would  make  the  coming  scene  all  the  more  painful  to 
know  that  she  was  hearing  again  in  all  its  repulsive 
detail  the  story  of  his  participation  in  the  criminal 
construction  of  the  Glenmore  hotel. 


THE   COMMON    LOT  379 

"I  think  I  had  better  go,"  she  said  finally,  "and  I 
want  to  go!" 

She  wished  to  be  near  him  at  the  end,  after  he  had 
performed  this  difficult  act;  to  be  near  him  when  he 
came  out  from  the  hearing  and  walked  home  with  the 
knowledge  of  the  public  disgrace  preparing  for  him  at 
the  hands  of  the  hungry  reporters.  Then,  she  divined, 
would  come  upon  him  the  full  bitterness  of  his  posi 
tion. 

The  hearing  proceeded  slowly,  and  it  was  the  middle 
of  the  afternoon  before  the  architect  was  called.  The 
coroner,  a  grizzled  little  German-American  with  an 
important  manner,  put  on  his  spectacles  to  examine 
the  new  witness,  and  the  members  of  the  coroner's 
jury,  who  knew  that  the  architect  had  left  the  city 
immediately  after  the  fire  and  were  surprised  at  his 
return,  evinced  their  curiosity  by  leaning  forward  and 
staring  at  Hart. 

The  first  questions  put  to  him  were  directed  toward 
gaining  information  about  the  corporation  that  owned 
the  building.  As  Mr.  Hart  was  the  treasurer  of  the 
Glenmore  company,  presumably  he  held  stock  in  the 
corporation  ?  A  large  amount  ?  No,  he  had  had  some 
stock,  but  had  disposed  of  it.  Recently?  Some  time 
ago.  To  whom  ?  The  witness  refused  to  answer.  Had 
he  paid  cash  for  his  stock?  The  witness  refused  to 
answer:  he  had  been  told  by  his  lawyer  that  all  such 
questions  were  not  pertinent  to  the  present  inquiry. 
But  who,  then,  were  the  chief  stockholders  ?  who  were, 


380  THE   COMMON   LOT 

in  fact,  the  Glenmore  company  ?  Again  the  architect 
refused  to  answer;  indeed,  he  was  not  sure  that  he 
knew.  The  coroner,  baffled  on  this  line,  and  knowing 
well  enough  in  a  general  way  at  least  from  previous 
witnesses  that  nothing  was  to  be  unearthed  here,  turned 
to  more  vital  matters. 

"Mr.  Hart,"  he  said,  clearing  his  throat  and  looking 
gravely  at  the  witness,  "I  understand  that  you  were 
the  architect  for  this  hotel?" 

"Yes." 

"  You  drew  the  plans  and  specifications  for  the  Glen- 
more  ?  " 

"  Yes,  they  were  prepared  in  my  office." 

"  Were  they  the  same  that  you  see  here  ?  " 

The  coroner  motioned  toward  the  roll  of  plans  that  had 
been  taken  from  the  files  of  the  Building  Depart 
ment. 

"Yes,"  the  architect  answered  readily,  merely  glanc 
ing  at  the  plans,  "  those  were  the  plans  for  the  hotel  as 
originally  prepared  by  me." 

"  Now  I  want  to  ask  if  the  Glenmore  hotel  was  built 
according  to  these  plans  ?  " 

The  architect  hesitated.  Every  one  in  the  room  knew 
well  enough  by  this  time  that  the  building  destroyed  by 
fire  had  not  been  erected  according  to  these  plans,  but, 
nevertheless,  they  waited  eagerly  for  the  reply. 

"  Few  buildings,"  Hart  began  explanatorily,  "  are  com 
pleted  in  all  respects  according  to  the  original  plans 
and  specifications." 

"Ah,  is  that  so?" 


THE   COMMON  LOT  381 

"But  these  plans  were  very  considerably  altered," 
the  witness  continued  voluntarily. 

"By  whom?  By  you?  With  your  consent,  your 
approval  ?  " 

The  architect  hesitated  again  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  answered  rapidly  :  — 

"With  my  knowledge,  certainly;  yes,  you  may  say 
with  my  consent !  " 

There  was  a  little  delay  in  the  inquiry  at  this  point, 
while  the  coroner  consulted  with  his  counsel  as  to  the 
next  questions  that  should  be  addressed  to  the  witness. 
The  architect  gazed  doggedly  before  him,  keeping  his 
eyes  on  the  dirty  window  above  the  heads  of  the  jury. 
In  the  dingy  light  of  the  little  room,  his  face  appeared 
yellow  and  old.  His  mouth  twitched  occasionally  be 
neath  his  mustache,  but  otherwise  he  stood  with  com 
posure  waiting  for  the  next  question,  which  he  knew 
would  pierce  to  the  heart  of  the  matter. 

"Mr.  Hart,"  the  coroner  resumed,  "will  you  describe 
to  us  what  those  alterations  in  the  plans  for  the  Glen- 
more  were,  what  was  the  nature  of  them  ?  " 

The  witness  considered  how  he  was  to  answer  the 
question,  and  then  he  proceeded  to  explain  the  most 
important  discrepancies  between  the  building  as  it  had 
been  erected  by  Graves  and  the  plans  that  had  been  filed 
with  the  Building  Department.  He  described  the  use 
of  the  old  walls  and  foundations,  the  reduction  in  the 
thickness  of  the  bearing-walls  and  partitions,  the  chief 
substitutions  of  wood  for  steel  in  the  upper  stories,  the 
omitting  of  fireproof  partitions  and  fire-escapes,  etc., — 


382  THE    COMMON   LOT 

in  short,  all  the  methods  of  "  skinning "  the  construc 
tion,  in  which  the  contractor  was  such  an  adept.  He 
referred  from  time  to  time  to  the  plans,  and  used  tech 
nical  terms,  which  he  was  asked  to  explain.  But  the 
jury  listened  with  absorbed  interest,  and  he  kept  on 
until  he  had  answered  the  question  thoroughly. 

"  As  an  architect,"  the  coroner  asked,  when  Hart  had 
completed  his  explanation,  "  will  you  state  whether,  in 
your  judgment,  these  changes  that  you  have  described, 
especially  the  substitution  of  inflammable  material  for 
fireproofing  and  the  weakening  of  the  main  walls,  were 
sufficient  to  account  for  the  great  loss  of  life  in  the 
fire?" 

The  answer  to  such  a  question  could  be  only  specula 
tive, —  an  individual  opinion,  —  and  the  witness  might 
properly  refuse  to  commit  himself.  The  architect  hesi 
tated,  and  then  with  a  quick  motion  of  the  head,  as  if 
he  were  sick  of  evasions,  said :  — 

"  There  are  a  good  many  buildings  here  in  Chicago 
and  in  other  large  cities  that  are  no  safer  than  the 
Glenmore  was.  But  if  you  want  my  opinion,  I  will 
say  that  such  alterations  as  I  have  indicated  tended  to 
weaken  the  walls,  and  in  other  ways  to  bring  the  build 
ing  below  the  danger  limit." 

"  It  was  what  might  be  called  a  fire-trap,  then  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  say  that ! " 

Feeling  that  at  last  he  had  found  an  easy  witness, 
the  coroner  began  to  bully,  and  there  ensued  a  wrangle 
between  him  and  the  architect,  in  which  both  men  be 
came  heated. 


THE   COMMON   LOT  383 

"Well,  Mr.  Hart,"  a  member  of  the  jury  finally  in 
terposed  with  a  question,  "  can  you  say  that  the  Glen- 
more  as  it  was  built  conformed  to  the  building  ordinances 
of  the  city  of  Chicago  ?  " 

"  It  would  take  a  number  of  experts  and  a  good  lawyer 
to  interpret  those  ordinances ! "  the  architect  answered 
testily.  "  I  should  say  that  they  were  drawn  for  the 
express  purpose  of  being  violated." 

There  was  a  laugh  along  the  reporters'  bench  at  this 
retort.  But  the  witness  quickly  added  in  his  former 
contained  manner :  — 

"No,  the  Glenmore  violated  the  ordinances  in  a 
number  of  important  particulars." 

There  was  a  sudden  hush  in  the  room.  This  point  had 
been  established  before  by  different  persons  who  had 
been  examined.  Nevertheless,  the  admission  coming 
from  the  architect  of  the  ill-fated  building  was  an  im 
portant  point.  It  might  lead  to  other  interesting  admis 
sions. 

"  You  were  aware,  then,  when  the  Glenmore  was  being 
erected  that  it  violated  the  ordinances  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Did  you  make  any  protest  ?  " 

"No." 

"Did  you  know  when  you  undertook  the  plans  that 
the  hotel  was  to  be  built  in  this  manner  ?" 

"  I  knew  that  it  was  to  be  put  up  for  a  certain  sum, 
and  that  a  first-class  fire-proof  building  conforming  to  the 
ordinances  could  not  be  built  for  that  money." 

A  number  of  questions  followed  in  regard  to  the  actual 


384  THE   COMMON  LOT 

cost  of  the  hotel  and  the  connection  of  the  Graves 
Construction  Company  with  the  owners  of  the  building, 
many  of  which  the  architect  refused  to  answer.  At  last 
the  coroner  returned  to  the  one  point  on  which  he  had 
been  successful  in  eliciting  vital  information,  —  the  char 
acter  of  the  burned  building,  and  the  circumstances  of  its 
construction. 

"I  suppose  the  building  was  inspected  during  the  con 
struction  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  By  whom  ?  " 

"  As  usual,  by  different  inspectors  from  the  building 
department.  Mr.  Murphy  was  there  several  times,  I 
remember,  and  Mr.  Lagrange,  among  others.  But  I 
think  chiefly  Mr.  Murphy." 

"  Were  you  present  during  their  inspection  ?  " 

"Not  always." 

"  Did  either  of  these  gentlemen  find  anything  to  object 
to  in  the  method  of  construction  ?  " 

"I  never  heard  of  any  objection.  Nothing  was  ever 
said  to  me.  The  inspectors  might  have  talked  to  the 
contractors.  But  I  don't  think  any  one  of  them 
did." 

"  Have  you  reason  to  believe  that  there  was  any  collu 
sion  between  the  inspectors  and  the  Graves  Company  ?  " 

Every  one  in  the  room  knew  that  there  must  have  been 
collusion.  Nevertheless,  the  architect,  after  hesitation, 
said :  — 

"  I  shan't  answer  that,  sir." 

rt  You  refuse  to  reply  ?  " 


tHE  COMMON  LO±  385 

"  See  here,  Mr.  Coroner !  I  am  here  to  tell  you  what  I 
know  about  the  Glenmore,  —  at  least  so  far  as  it  concerns 
my  own  responsibility,  my  own  work.     But  I  am  not  here 
to  testify   against   the   Graves   Construction   Company. 
Understand  that ! " 

"  Well,  I  should  say  that  you  and  the  Graves  Company 
were  pretty  well  mixed  in  this  matter.  You  were  an 
officer  of  the  corporation  which  employed  the  Graves 
Company  to  build  a  hotel  on  your  plans.  Could  there  be 
any  closer  connection  than  that,  do  you  think  ?  " 

To  this  observation  Hart  made  no  reply,  and  finally 
the  member  of  the  jury  who  had  interposed  before  put 
another  question  to  the  witness  :  — 

"  You  have  told  us  that  the  Glenmore  was  not  properly 
built,  was  not  what  it  pretended  to  be,  a  fire-proof  build 
ing,  and  generally  violated  the  ordinance  for  that  class  of 
building.  Do  you  consider  yourself  in  any  way  responsi 
ble  for  those  violations  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  the  architect  replied  slowly,  "  I  suppose  so. 
At  least  I  knew  all  about  it ! " 

"  You  considered  it  a  dangerous  building  ?  " 

"I  can't  say  that  I  did.  I  should  consider  it  so  now. 
I  didn't  think  much  about  it  then." 

The  witness's  admission  came  with  evident  effort ;  the 
juryman  continued  insinuatingly  :  — 

"Mr.  Hart,  I  believe  that  you  were  present  at  the 
fire  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  you  then  believe  that  if  the  hotel  had  been  built 
according  to  these  plans  "  —  he  pointed  to  the  roll  of  blue 
So 


386  THE   COMMON   LOT 

prints  on  the  table  —  "  the  large  loss  of  life  would  not 
have  occurred  ?  " 

"  I  felt  so,  —  yes,  I  believe  so  now ! " 

"  May  I  ask  one  more  question  ?  Was  it  for  your 
interest  to  make  these  changes  ?  Did  you  make  any 
money  out  of  the  job  beyond  your  customary  commis 
sion?" 

It  was  a  question  that  the  witness  might  properly 
refuse  to  answer  as  having  no  direct  bearing  on  the  ob 
ject  of  the  inquest.  But  the  architect  was  weary  of 
quibbles,  —  indeed,  eager  to  make  his  testimony  as  thor 
ough  as  might  be,  and  to  have  it  over. 

"  Not  directly,  but  I  was  an  officer  of  the  company,  and 
beside  —  " 

"  Indirectly,  then,  you  benefited  ?  " 

"Yes,  indirectly." 

"  That  is  all,  Mr.  Hart." 

A  few  more  questions  were  asked  by  the  coroner  about 
the  inspection  of  the  building  by  Murphy  and  Lagrange, 
and  also  in  regard  to  the  architect's  previous  relations 
with  the  Graves  Company.  Then  the  witness  was  excused. 

When  the  architect  stepped  back  into  the  room,  he  saw 
Wheeler  sitting  beside  Helen  in  the  rear.  They  waited 
for  him  at  the  door,  and  together  the  three  went  out  to 
the  street.  The  lawyer,  who  had  reached  the  hearing  in 
time  for  most  of  the  testimony,  smiled  rather  grimly  as 
he  remarked  to  his  cousin :  — 

"Well,  Jack,  you  gave  them  about  everything  they 
were  after!  You  needn't  have  turned  yourself  quite 
inside  out." 


THE   COMMON   LOT  387 

"  It  was  perfect ! "  Helen  exclaimed,  taking  her  hus 
band's  arm.  "  Everything  you  said  was  right.  I 
wouldn't  have  had  you  change  a  word." 

Wheeler  buttoned  his  coat  against  the  east  wind  and 
smiled  tolerantly  at  the  woman's  fervor. 

"  Will  that  be  all,  Everett  ? "  she  asked  a  little  de 
fiantly. 

"  For  the  present,"  he  replied  after  a  pause,  and  then 
he  nodded  good-by. 

"  What  did  he  mean  ? "  she  asked  her  husband,  as 
they  threaded  the  crowded  street  leading  to  the  North 
Side  bridge. 

"  That  they  will  hold  me  to  the  Grand  Jury,  I  suppose." 

Her  hand  which  clasped  his  arm  tightened  involunta 
rily  at  the  words,  and  they  continued  their  way  silently  to 
the  old  Ohio  Street  house. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

WHEN  they  entered  the  house,  Helen  hurried  upstairs 
to  the  child,  who  had  been  calling  for  her,  Mrs.  Hart  said. 
Presently  the  doctor  came  for  his  evening  visit,  and  when, 
after  a  long  time,  he  left  the  sickroom,  Jackson  met  him 
in  the  hall,  but  lacked  the  courage  to  ask  any  question. 
The  doctor  spoke  bruskly  about  the  bad  weather,  and 
hurried  off.  Then  Hart  walked  to  and  fro  in  the  gloomy 
dining-room  until  his  mother  came  down  for  dinner,  which 
they  ate  in  silence. 

Before  they  had  finished  their  meal  the  bell  rang,  and 
in  reply  to  the  maid's  excuses  at  the  door  there  sounded 
in  the  hall  a  strong  woman's  voice. 

"  But  I  must  see  them ! " 

Jackson,  recognizing  Venetia  Phillips's  voice,  stepped 
into  the  hall. 

"  Oh,  Jack !  I  have  just  heard  that  you  were  all  here. 
We  met  Everett  at  the  station,  and  he  told  me  all  about 
it.  Jack,  it  was  fine  !  I  didn't  think  you  had  it  in  you, 
Jackie,  dear.  To  stand  up  there  and  give  everything 
away,  —  it  took  real  stuff.  I  know  it !  "  She  held  out  her 
hand  in  enthusiastic  heartiness,  repeating,  "  It  was  fine, 
fine !  "  Suddenly  she  turned  back  to  the  door,  where 
Coburn  stood. 

388 


THE   COMMON   LOT  389 

"  You  know  Dr.  Coburn,  Jack  !  I  brought  him  along, 
too  —  I  was  in  such  a  hurry  to  see  you  all.  Where's 
Helen?" 

"  Yes,  I  just  butted  in,"  Coburn  said,  laughing.  "  I 
wouldn't  let  her  come  without  me.  I  wanted  to  shake 
on  it,  too  ! " 

"But  where's  that  sainted  wife  of  yours?"  Venetia 
persisted. 

When  Jackson  told  her  of  the  boy's  illness,  she  hurried 
upstairs  without  another  word,  leaving  the  two  men 
standing  in  the  library.  At  first,  when  they  were  alone, 
with  the  common  memory  of  that  last  meeting  in  the  doc 
tor's  rooms  barely  a  week  before,  there  was  an  awkward 
silence.  Coburn  had  now  an  explanation  for  the  archi 
tect's  erratic  behavior  on  that  occasion,  and  he  refrained 
from  his  usual  blunt  speech.  And  the  architect,  seeing 
through  the  mist  of  accumulated  impressions,  as  in  a  long 
vista,  that  night  after  the  fire  when  Coburn  had  found 
him  half-crazed,  a  prey  to  horrible  visions,  could  not 
speak.  Yet  that  experience  seemed  removed  from  the 
present,  as  if  it  rose  from  distant  years,  and  somehow 
belonged  to  another  person.  Although  he  had  never 
liked  Coburn  in  the  old  days,  he  felt  a  kind  of  sympathy 
in  the  doctor's  bearing,  and  was  grateful  for  it. 

"  You  must  have  thought  I  was  crazy  the  other  night," 
the  architect  remarked  apologetically  at  last.  "  I  didn't 
know  much  what  I  was  up  to ! " 

"That's  all  right,  man,"  Coburn  interrupted  warmly. 
"  Don't  think  about  it  again.  It  was  damn  good  luck  my 
running  across  you,  that's  all.  If  I'd  known,  of  course  — • 


390  THE    COMMON   LOT 

Say!  that  took  sand,  what  you  did  to-day.  Wheeler 
told  Venetia  all  about  it,  and  she  told  me.  It  makes  a 
man  feel  good  to  see  some  one  who  has  got  the  nerve  to 
stand  up  and  take  medicine,  and  not  try  everlastingly 
to  sneak  out  of  things  !  If  more  folks  nowadays  would 
do  that,  it  would  be  better  for  us  all.  Don't  you  mind 
what  the  papers  say.  They  have  to  fling  mud, — that's 
their  game!" 

"  Well,  it  doesn't  make  much  difference  now  what  they 
say  except,  —  except  for  my  wife,"  Jackson  answered 
dully.  "  And  that  can't  be  helped." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  it  won't  last  long.  And  somehow  women 
don't  mind  those  things  half  as  much  as  you'd  think,  at 
least  the  best  ones  don't.  And  from  what  Venetia  says, 
yours  is  one  of  the  best ! " 

"Yes!  That  doesn't  make  it  any  easier.  But  I 
haven't  congratulated  you ! "  he  exclaimed,  repressing 
the  confession  of  his  own  pain.  "She  is  a  splendid 
woman,  lots  of  spirit,"  he  remarked  awkwardly. 

"  I  rather  think  so !  "  A  pleased  smile  illuminated  the 
doctor's  grave  face.  "  She's  just  about  the  best  ever !  " 

"I  hope  you  will  be  happy,"  Jackson  continued  con 
ventionally. 

"Well,  we  expect  to  —  don't  see  why  we  shouldn't. 
I  guess  we  know  pretty  much  what's  to  be  found  on  both 
sides,  and  won't  make  ourselves  uncomfortable  looking 
for  what  ain't  there." 

Venetia  came  down  the  stairs  very  quietly,  her  exuber 
ance  all  gone,  and  as  she  entered  the  room  she  was  still 
wiping  away  the  traces  of  tears. 


THE   COMMON   LOT  391 

"Poor  little  Powers!"  she  exclaimed.  "Oh,  Jack! 
I  am  terribly  sorry." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  Coburn  demanded. 

"  It's  pneumonia,  poor  little  man ! " 

Jackson's  lip  trembled  beneath  his  mustache,  as  he 
murmured  to  himself :  — 

"  Yes,  I  supposed  it  would  be.  It's  as  tough  as  it  well 
could  be,  for  her  I " 

"  I  know  he'll  come  through,  —  he  must  I "  Venetia 
exclaimed  helplessly,  and  added  in  a  burst  of  admira 
tion,  "That  trouble  couldn't  happen  to  Helen  —  it  just 
couldn't  !  She's  so  splendid,  Jack  !  It's  a  big  thing 
to  know  there  are  such  women  about.  She's  holding  him 
up  there  now,  with  a  smile  on  her  face  ! " 

Jackson  turned  away  from  her  eager  eyes. 

Again  and  again  during  the  days  that  followed,  while 
they  worked  for  the  child's  life,  and  when  all  was  done 
watched  and  waited  together  for  what  might  come,  that 
miserable  foreboding  of  the  first  day  came  back  to  the 
man.  An  evil  fate  seemed  close  on  his  heels,  ready  to 
lay  hand  on  him  here  or  there.  The  illness  of  the 
child  related  itself  in  some  unseen  manner  with  the 
great  catastrophe  of  his  life.  The  old  idea  of  retribu 
tion,  that  barbaric  conception  of  blood  sacrifice,  tor 
mented  him,  as  it  torments  the  most  sceptical  in  the 
hour  of  crisis.  It  appeared  to  him  that  for  his  coward 
ice  of  nature,  for  all  his  weak  and  evil  deeds,  for  the 
unknown  dead  in  whose  death  he  had  connived,  he  was 
about  to  be  called  to  pay  with  the  life  of  his  own  child. 


392  THE   COMMON   LOT 

And  the  mother,  guiltless,  in  the  inscrutable  cruelty  of 
fate,  must  pay  with  him  and  pay  the  larger  share  of  the 
price  of  his  evil,  of  his  nature  ! 

But  during  these  days  of  dread  the  woman  went  her 
way  calmly,  serenely,  prepared,  outwardly  at  least,  for 
any  event.  What  the  child's  death  would  mean  to  her 
was  known  only  to  herself,  for  she  consumed  her  grief 
patiently  in  the  silence  of  the  watch.  The  house  grew 
more  sombre,  as  day  by  day  the  struggle  for  life  moved 
on  to  its  crisis.  Little  Powers,  like  his  mother,  made  his 
fight  with  unchildish  patience.  He  had  always  been  the 
quieter,  less  demonstrative  one  of  the  two  boys,  possessing 
a  singular  power  of  silence  and  abstraction,  which  had 
been  attributed  to  physical  weakness.  Yet  under  the 
stress  of  disease  he  showed  an  unexpected  resistance  and 
vitality.  The  father,  when  he  saw  him  lying  in  the 
great  bed,  with  pathetic  moments  of  playfulness  even  in 
the  height  of  his  fever,  could  not  stay  by  his  side.  .  .  . 

The  suspense  of  the  child's  illness  mercifully  threw  all 
outer  happenings  into  shade.  Jackson  was  able  to  keep 
the  newspapers  away  from  Helen,  and  she  asked  no  ques 
tions.  His  testimony  at  the  inquest  had  revived  to  some 
extent  the  waning  public  interest  in  the  Glenmore  fire. 
Especially  the  Buzzard,  which  had  assumed  to  itself  all 
the  credit  for  airing  the  conditions  in  the  building 
department,  made  merry  over  Hart's  replies  to  the 
coroner.  It  printed  full-page  cuts  of  scenes  at  the 
inquest  that  last  day,  when  the  architect  was  on  the  stand, 
—  dramatic  sketches  of  "tilts  between  the  coroner  and 
Hart,"  "  Hart's  insolent  retorts,"  etc. ;  and  it  denounced 


THE   COMMON   LOT  393 

editorially,  with  its  peculiar  unction  of  self-esteem,  the 
"systematic  corruption  of  the  nation  by  such  men  as 
Graves,  Hart,  and  their  allies."  But  the  Thunderer  and 
the  more  respectable  papers  refrained  from  all  such  bit 
ter  insinuations.  For  some  reason  they  forbore  to  pil 
lory  the  only  man  who  had  voluntarily  come  forward 
and  told  all  that  he  knew.  Perhaps  they  respected  the 
courage  of  the  act ;  perhaps  they  were  aware  that  their 
patrons  had  tired  of  "  the  Glenmore  tragedy  " ;  perhaps 
they  felt  that  the  real  guilt  lay  too  deep  to  be  reached 
by  their  editorial  darts.  However  that  might  be,  the 
matter  rested  now  with  the  district  attorney  and  the 
Grand  Jury. 

For  the  inquest  had  been  concluded  and  the  coroner's 
report  was  published.  It  covered  lengthily  all  the  points 
touched  upon  by  the  many  witnesses,  and  it  contained 
much  "  scoring  "  of  the  city  authorities.  The  contractor, 
Graves,  the  inspectors,  Murphy  and  Lagrange,  Gotz,  the 
president  of  the  defunct  corporation,  and  Hart,  were  held 
to  the  Grand  Jury  for  complicity  in  the  death  of  the 
seventeen  persons  who  had  perished  in  the  Glenmore 
fire.  .  .  . 

Meanwhile  the  worst  hour  of  anxiety  for  the  child's 
life  came,  and  Helen  knelt  by  the  bed  holding  the  little 
body  in  her  arms,  devouring  his  face  with  her  shining 
eyes.  The  hour  passed,  the  child  lived,  there  was  hope 
of  his  recovery.  Yet  for  a  period  they  went  to  and  fro 
softly,  with  that  peculiar  hush  of  fear  scarcely  relieved, 
lest  their  hopes  might  be  too  strong. 


394  THE   COMMON   LOT 

At  last,  however,  Jackson  was  obliged  to  tell  Helen 
what  had  happened  at  the  inquest.  She  listened  as  to 
a  message  from  a  far  land,  her  face  blanched  and  set 
from  the  hours  of  fear  through  which  she  had  passed. 
When  he  said  that  he,  with  the  others,  had  been  held  to 
the  Grand  Jury,  she  merely  asked :  — 

"  When  will  that  be  ?  " 

"Very  soon,  less  than  a  fortnight,  Everett  says.  He 
called  here  yesterday.  He  advised  me  to  leave  the  city, 
—  he  came  to  see  about  that." 

"  What  will  they  do  ?  "  she  asked,  not  heeding  the  last 
remark. 

"  If  they  find  a  true  bill,  it  will  go  to  the  trial  jury. 
And,"  he  added  slowly,  "the  charge  will  be  man 
slaughter." 

She  started  as  he  pronounced  the  word.  In  her  ears 
it  was  the  legal  synonym  for  murder,  and  before  the 
awfulness  of  that  conception  her  heart  recoiled. 

"  Manslaughter  ! "  she  repeated  involuntarily. 

"  Yes,  but  Everett  thinks  it  is  very  doubtful  whether 
the  Grand  Jury  will  find  a  true  bill  against  any  one.  It 
would  be  almost  an  unheard-of  thing  to  do.  Of  course, 
Graves  will  stay  away  until  he  sees  how  it  will  turn  out, 
and  probably  the  others  will  keep  out  of  reach.  Everett 
wants  me  to  go  —  " 

"  No,  no  ! "  she  cried,  "  never !  You  have  come  all 
this  way  on  the  hard  road,  and  we  must  go  on  to  the 
very  end,  no  matter  what  that  is." 

"  So  I  thought  you  would  feel,"  he  answered  gently. 
"  I  said  the  same  thing  to  Everett.  Of  course,  the  justice 


THE   COMMON   LOT  395 

of  it  isn't  very  clear.  It's  mixed  up  with  politics,  any 
way.  I  don't  know  that  it  would  do  much  good  to  any 
one  to  stay  and  be  tried.  But  if  you  feel  that  way  —  " 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  imploring  him  mutely 
not  to  give  her  all  the  responsibility  for  the  decision. 

"Think  what  it  might  mean,  if  —  if  they  found  me 
guilty !  "  he  muttered  gloomily. 

"  I  know,"  she  shuddered.  "  But  Francis,  we  must 
pay  somehow,  you  and  I.  We  must  pay ! " 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

BUT  if  in  her  heroic  soul  she  was  ready  to  pay,  and  to 
make  him  pay,  at  the  price  of  public  shame  for  her  and 
her  children,  the  full  penalty  of  his  misdeeds,  it  was  not 
to  be  so.  He  was  to  escape  the  full  measure  of  retribu 
tion,  shielded  by  the  accident  of  his  class.  Unknown  to 
him,  the  tangled  threads  of  his  fate  were  being  sorted  in 
the  great  city,  and  the  vengeance  of  society  was  being 
averted,  so  far,  at  least,  as  legal  punishment  was  con 
cerned.  Everett  Wheeler,  once  recovered  from  his  dis 
gust  at  the  sentimental  folly  of  the  architect's  confession 
at  the  inquest,  had  no  mind  to  see  his  cousin  on  trial  for 
manslaughter.  His  mood  was  invariably  to  settle  things, 
to  cover  them  up,  to  bury  them !  As  has  been  said,  he 
had  political  influence,  enough  to  reach  even  to  the  dis 
trict  attorney's  office,  enough  to  close  the  mouth  of  the 
Chicago  Buzzard,  to  quiet  the  snarls  of  the  Thunderer. 
So  the  case  against  the  men  held  to  the  Grand  Jury  for 
the  hotel  disaster  was  quietly  dropped.  The  mayor  put 
another  man  in  Bloom's  place  as  chief  building  inspector, 
and  very  soon  things  went  merrily  on  in  their  old  way. 
And  that  was  the  end  of  it  all !  The  seventeen  human 
beings  who  had  lost  their  lives  in  the  fire  had  not  even 
pointed  a  moral  by  their  agonizing  death.  For  a  few 

396 


THE   COMMON   LOT  397 

summer  months  the  gaunt,  smoke-blackened  pit  of  ruins 
on  the  boulevard  served  to  remind  the  passers-by  of  a 
grewsome  tale.  Then,  by  the  beginning  of  the  new  year, 
in  its  place  rose  a  splendid  apartment  building,  faced 
with  cut  stone  and  trimmed  with  marble. 

Wheeler  notified  the  architect  in  a  curt  note  that  the 
case  had  been  dismissed,  and  Jackson  showed  the  letter 
to  his  wife. 

"  Thank  God ! "  he  exclaimed  fervently,  "  that  is  the 
end.  I  shan't  drag  you  into  the  mud  any  farther." 

Helen  looked  up  from  the  lawyer's  letter  with  a 
troubled  face.  She  had  hardened  herself  to  the  coming 
trial,  which  she  had  fully  expected.  Now  that  it  had 
been  spared,  all  was  not  yet  right  to  her  scrupulous  per 
ception.  A  terrible  wrong  had  been  committed,  a  wrong 
to  the  poor  souls  who  had  lost  their  lives,  a  wrong,  too, 
to  the  city  and  to  society,  making  an  evil  pool  of  corrup 
tion.  And  in  some  mysterious  way  this  had  been  cov 
ered  up,  hidden,  and  all  was  to  go  on  as  before !  She 
had  a  primitive  idea  that  all  evil  necessitated  exact  pay 
ment,  and  as  long  as  this  payment  was  deferred,  so  long 
was  the  day  of  light,  of  health,  put  off. 

But  the  man,  realizing  more  clearly  than  she  the  indi 
rect  penalties  which  his  situation  inevitably  imposed, 
gave  no  further  thought  to  the  abstract  question  of  jus 
tice.  The  outlook  was  bad  enough  as  it  was.  He  saw 
nothing  before  him  in  this  city  where  he  naturally 
belonged. 

"  What  would  you  think  of  our  moving  to  St.  Louis  ?  " 
he  asked,  a  few  days  after  he  had  received  the  lawyer's 


398  THE   COMMON   LOT 

.letter.  "  There  is  some  sort  of  an  opening  there  for  me. 
Of  course  I  had  rather  be  in  New  York,  but  it  is  out  of 
the  question.  It  would  take  too  long  to  get  started.  Or 
we  might  try  Denver.  I  have  done  some  work  there, 
and  it's  a  growing  place." 

"Do  you  think  that  we  must  leave  Chicago?"  she 
asked. 

"  Why ! "  he  exclaimed,  surprised  that  she  should  con 
sider  for  a  moment  the  possibility  of  their  remaining 
where  he  had  made  such  a  failure  of  his  life.  "  Do  you 
want  to  stay  here  and  be  dropped  by  every  soul  you  have 
known  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  very  much  for  that ! " 

"  Well,  there's  nothing  here  for  me.  Stewart  will  take 
the  office.  He  let  me  know  mighty  quick  that  we  had 
better  part !  I  am  a  dead  dog  in  Chicago.  Only  yester 
day  I  got  a  letter  from  the  Bicker  Brothers  turning  me 
down  after  telling  me  last  month  to  go  ahead.  They  pay 
for  the  work  done  so  far,  and  that  is  all.  You  see  it  is 
out  of  the  question  to  stay  here !  " 

He  spoke  gloomily,  as  if  in  spite  of  all  that  had  hap 
pened  he  had  some  grounds  for  feeling  a  little  sore. 

"  But  I  don't  mean  to  let  this  down  me,  not  yet,"  he 
continued  more  buoyantly.  "  I  owe  it  to  you,  at  least,  to 
make  good.  And  I  can  do  it  somewhere  else,  where  the 
sight  of  this  mess  isn't  always  in  my  eyes !  It'll  only  be 
a  matter  of  a  few  years,  Nell." 

Already  the  bitterness  of  the  crisis  was  passing  away, 
and  he  was  beginning  to  plan  for  the  future,  for  a  career, 
for  success, — built  on  a  surer  foundation,  but  nevertheless 


THE  COMMON  LOT  399 

success  and  repute  in  the  world.  His  wife  realized  it 
and  understood.  She  was  standing  by  his  side,  as  he  sat 
with  his  elbows  resting  on  his  knees,  studying  the  faded 
figure  in  the  carpet.  She  put  her  hands  on  his  head  and 
drew  it  toward  her,  protectingly,  pityingly,  as  she  would 
the  bruised  head  of  a  child. 

"  So  you  think  you  must  begin  somewhere  else  ?  "  she 
said  gently,  sitting  down  by  his  side. 

"  It's  the  only  thing  to  do.     The  question  is  where ! " 

She  made  no  reply  and  seemed  buried  in  her  thoughts. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  remarked,  "  whom  do  you  i!nink  I 
saw  on  the  street  to-day  ?  Wright.  He  was  staring  at 
Letterson's  new  store,  — you  know  Frank  Peyton  did  it. 
The  old  man  stopped  me  and  seemed  really  glad  to  see 
me.  I  suppose  he  knows  everything,  too,"  he  added 
musingly. 

The  incident  comforted  him  greatly.  He  had  seen 
Wright  in  the  crowded  street,  and  had  looked  away  from 
him,  meaning  to  hurry  past,  but  the  older  man  had 
stretched  out  his  long  arm  and  good-naturedly  drawn 
Hart  to  one  side  out  of  the  press  of  the  street. 

"  How  are  you,  Hart  ?  "  he  had  said  cordially,  with  his 
boyish  smile.  "  What  do  you  think  of  this  thing  ?  Bold, 
isn't  it  ?  That  Peyton's  got  nerve  to  put  up  this  spider- 
web  right  here  in  State  Street.  Now,  I  couldn't  do  that ! 
But  I  guess  he's  on  the  right  track.  That's  what  we  are 
coming  to.  What  do  you  think  ?  " 

They  had  walked  down  the  street  together,  and  Wright 
had  continued  to  talk  of  Peyton  and  the  other  young 
architects  in  the  city,  and  of  their  work. 


400  THE  COMMON  LOT 

"I  tell  you,  those  youngsters  have  got  the  future. 
They  have  the  courage  to  try  experiments.  That  won't 
do  for  an  old  fellow  like  me.  My  clients  would  kick,  too, 
if  I  took  to  anything  new.  But  I  like  to  see  the  young 
ones  try  it.  ...  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  he  had  asked 
abruptly.  "  Come  in  to  see  me,  won't  you  ?  I  shall 
be  here  two  or  three  weeks.  Be  sure  to  come  in,  now ! " 

They  had  shaken  hands,  and  the  older  architect  had 
looked  searchingly  into  Hart's  face,  his  boyish  smile 
changing  subtly  into  an  expression  of  concern  and  sweet 
ness,  as  if  there  was  something  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue 
which  he  refrained  from  saying  there  in  the  crowded 
street.  The  memory  of  the  little  meeting  came  back  to 
the  man  now,  and  he  felt  more  grateful  for  Wright's  cor 
diality  than  he  had  at  the  time. 

"Wright  asked  me  to  come  in  and  see  him.  I  think 
I  will  do  it  some  day,"  he  remarked  presently. 

"  Why  not  give  up  the  idea  of  starting  your  own 
office  ?  "  Helen  asked  suddenly,  her  thoughts  having  come 
to  a  definite  point. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Try  something  else  ?  It  would 
be  pretty  risky,"  he  answered  doubtfully,  surprised 
that  she  should  want  him  to  abandon  his  profession, 
to  admit  defeat. 

"I  didn't  mean  that,  exactly.  It  wouldn't  do  at  all 
for  you  to  give  up  architecture.  That  never  entered  my 
mind.  Only  —  listen ! " 

She  slipped  from  the  lounge  where  she  had  been  sitting 
and  knelt  beside  him,  taking  the  lapels  of  his  coat  in  hei 
hands,  her  face  aglow  with  a  sudden  enthusiasm. 


THE   COMMON   LOT  401 

"I've  been  thinking  of  so  many  things  these  last 
months,  and  lately,  while  Powers  has  been  so  sick,  I've 
thought  of  everything  since  we  were  in  Italy  together, 
since  I  loved  you,  — all  those  talks  we  had,  and  the  plans 
we  made,  the  work  you  did,  the  sketches  —  those  first 
ones."  She  paused,  trying  to  put  her  tumultuous 
thoughts  in  order. 

"  I  grow  so  slowly !  I  was  so  ignorant  of  everything, 
of  myself  and  you  in  those  days.  It  has  taken  me  a  long 
time,  dear,  to  understand,  to  grow  up ! "  she  exclaimed, 
her  lips  trembling  in  a  little  smile. 

"  We  stumbled  almost  at  the  start,  you  and  I.  You 
started  your  office  and  worked  hard,  always  striving  to 
get  ahead,  to  get  us  comforts  and  position,  and  not  because 
you  liked  the  things  you  were  doing.  You  took  anything 
that  promised  to  bring  in  money.  And  it  got  worse  and 
worse,  the  more  we  had.  It  used  to  trouble  me  then, 
'way  back,  but  I  didn't  know  what  was  the  matter  with 
it  all.  We  lived  out  there  with  all  those  rich  people 
around  us.  And  those  we  knew  that  weren't  very  rich 
were  all  trying  to  get  richer,  to  have  the  same  things  the 
others  had.  We  did  what  they  did,  and  thought  what 
they  thought,  and  tried  to  live  as  they  did.  It  wasn't 
honest ! " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  he  asked  blankly. 

"  I'll  say  it  clearly ;  just  give  me  time,  dear !  It  is 
true,  but  it  is  made  up  of  so  many  little,  unimportant 
trifles.  You  worked  just  to  get  money,  and  we  spent  it 
all  on  ourselves,  or  pretty  nearly  all.  And  the  more  we 
had,  the  more  we  seemed  to  need.  No  man  ought  to 

2D 


402  THE  COMMON  LOT 

work  that  way  !  It  ruins  him  in  the  end.  That's  why 
there  are  so  many  common,  brutal  men  and  women  every 
where.  They  work  for  the  pay,  and  for  nothing  else." 

"  Oh,  not  always." 

"  Most  of  those  we  knew  did,"  she  replied  confidently. 

"  Well,  it's  the  law  of  life,"  he  protested  with  a  touch 
of  his  old  superiority  in  his  tone. 

"No,  it  isn't,  it  isn't!"  she  exclaimed  vehemently. 
"  Never  !  There  are  other  laws.  Work  is  good  in  itself, 
not  just  for  the  pay,  and  we  must  live  so  that  the  pay 
makes  less  difference,  so  that  we  haven't  to  think  of  the 
pay!" 

"I  don't  see  what  this  has  to  do  with  our  going  to 
St.  Louis ! "  he  interjected  impatiently,  disinclined  for  a 
theoretic  discussion  of  the  aims  of  life,  when  the  ques 
tion  of  bread  and  butter  was  immediately  pressing. 

"  But  it  has,  Francis,  dear.  It  has  !  If  you  go  there, 
you  will  try  to  live  the  old  way.  You  will  try  to  get 
ahead,  to  struggle  up  in  the  world,  as  it  is  called,  and  that 
is  the  root  of  all  the  trouble !  That  is  what  I  have  come 
to  see  all  these  months.  We  are  all  trying  to  get  out  of 
the  ranks,  to  leave  the  common  work  to  be  done  by  others, 
to  be  leaders.  We  think  it  a  disgrace  to  stay  in  the 
ranks,  to  work  for  the  work's  sake,  to  bear  the  common 
lot,  which  is  to  live  humbly  and  labor!  Don't  let  us 
struggle  that  way  any  longer,  dear.  It  is  wrong,  —  it  is 
a  curse.  It  will  never  give  us  happiness  —  never ! " 

He  began  to  see  the  drift  of  her  purpose,  and  resented 
it  with  all  the  prejudice  of  his  training,  —  resented,  at 
least,  the  application  of  it  to  him. 


THE   COMMON   LOT  403 

"  The  ranks  are  crowded  enough  as  it  is  !  I  don't  see 
the  call  for  a  man  to  put  himself  into  them  if  he  has  the 
ability  to  do  any  better,  I  must  say ! " 

"  Not  if  —  not  after  all  that  has  happened?  "  she  asked 
mournfully. 

"  Oh !  that's  it.  You  think  that  it's  only  /  who 
should  go  down,  meekly  give  up  all  ambition,  because 
I  can't  be  trusted  ?  You  are  afraid  that  I  will  go 
wrong? "he  retorted  bitterly. 

"  No,  not  that  quite  !  Yet  — "  she  hesitated,  aware 
that  the  new  love  between  them  hung  in  the  balance. 
Then  she  went  on  courageously:  "No,  I  have  no  fear 
of  that.  You  couldn't!  But  the  temptation  to  make 
money  will  be  before  you  every  moment,  and  to-day 
few  men  can  resist  that.  It  is  better  to  be  in  the  ranks 
than  to  struggle  to  lead,  and  then  lead  falsely,  trying 
for  false  things,  — false  things !  " 

"  That  is  what  you  think  of  me ! "  he  repeated  mourn 
fully. 

In  spite  of  all  the  experience  which  had  come  to  him  the 
last  weeks,  all  that  he  had  confessed  to  himself  and  to  his 
wife,  it  was  bitter  to  realize  that  she  refused  him  now 
that  absolute  faith  and  blind  confidence  in  his  guidance 
which  had  made  courtship  and  the  first  years  of  marriage 
such  a  pleasant  tribute  to  his  egotism.  He  had  come 
back  to  her  repentant ;  he  had  said,  "  I  have  erred.  I 
repent.  Will  you  forgive  me  and  love  me  ?  "  And  she 
had  taken  him  to  herself  again  with  a  deeper  acceptance 
than  at  first.  Yet  when  it  came  to  the  point  of  action, 
she  seemed  to  be  withdrawing  her  forgiveness,  to  be 
judging  and  condemning  him. 


404  THE   COMMON   LOT 

In  this  he  wronged  her.  What  she  was  trying  hesi 
tantly  and  imperfectly  to  say  to  him  was  not  merely  the 
lesson  of  his  catastrophe,  but  the  fruited  thought  of  her 
life,  —  what  had  come  to  her  through  her  imperfect,  grop 
ing  education,  through  the  division  of  their  marriage, 
through  her  children,  through  the  empty  dinner  parties 
in  the  society  he  had  sought,  through  the  vacancy  in  her 
heart, — yes!  through  the  love  that  she  had  for  him. 
While  she  was  silent,  clinging  to  him,  baffled,  he  spoke 
again :  — 

"Don't  you  see  that  I  want  to  retrieve  myself,  and 
make  some  amends  to  you  for  all  that  I  have  made  you 
suffer  ?  You  would  kill  every  ambition  in  me,  even  the 
one  to  work  for  you  and  the  boys ! " 

"  That  would  not  make  me  happy,  not  if  you  made  as 
great  a  fortune  as  uncle  Powers !  Not  that  way ! " 

"What  would,  then?" 

"  Do  you  remember  some  of  those  first  things  you  did  ? 
The  little  country  club  at  Oak  Hills  ?  I  was  awfully 
happy  when  you  showed  me  that,"  she  said  softly,  irrele 
vantly.  "  Somehow  I  know  you  could  do  that  again  and 
better  things,  too,  if —  if  you  could  forget  the  money  and 
all  that.  Real,  honest  work !  You  could  be  the  artist  I 
know  you  are,  the  maker  of  honest,  fine  buildings ! " 

In  the  enthusiasm  of  her  face  he  read  dimly  once  more 
the  long-past  dream  of  his  youth,  the  talk  of  young  men 
in  the  studios,  the  hours  by  her  side  on  the  steamer, 
when  they  had  come  together  in  the  imperfect  attraction 
of  sex.  It  was  but  the  flicker  of  a  distant  light,  however ; 
he  had  learned  the  lesson  of  the  city  too  well. 


THE  COMMON  LOT  405 

"That  sounds  very  well.  But  it  isn't  practical.  If 
you  want  to  do  big  work,  you  have  to  be  your  own  mas 
ter,  and  not  work  for  some  one  else !  And  art,  especially 
architecture,  lives  on  the  luxury  of  the  rich,  whom  you 
seem  to  despise ! " 

"  What  does  it  matter  whose  name  goes  on  the  plans  ? 
It's  the  work  that  makes  it  that  counts,  and  no  one  can 
have  that  but  the  one  who  does  it." 

"  Now,  you're  talking  poetry,  Nell,  not  sense ! "  he  ex 
claimed  good-naturedly,  getting  up  from  the  lounge  and 
walking  to  and  fro.  "  This  world  doesn't  run  on  those 
lines,  and  you  and  I  aren't  going  to  make  it  over,  either. 
You're  talking  like  a  romantic  girl !  " 

"  There  isn't  much  else  of  the  girl  left  in  me ! "  she 
smiled  wistfully  back  to  him. 

"Just  look  at  it  practically.  If  I  go  out  of  business 
for  myself,  I  couldn't  earn  more  than  two  hundred  a 
month  working  for  some  firm.  That's  as  much  as 
Wright  ever  pays  his  best  men.  What  would  that  be  to 
live  on  ?  For  you  and  me  and  the  boys  ?  " 

"  We  could  make  it  do.  There  are  many  others  who 
have  less." 

"  Next  you  will  want  to  take  in  washing." 

"  I  had  rather  do  the  cooking,  when  it  comes  to  that," 
she  flashed  back. 

"I  can  see  us  in  a  four-room  flat  somewhere  south  on 
one  of  those  God-forsaken  prairie  streets.  One  slovenly 
maid,  and  the  food!  A  cigar  on  Sundays  and  holidays! 
You  would  buy  your  clothes  over  the  counter  at  Letter- 
son's  and  go  bargain-hunting  for  your  weekly  amusement. 


406  THE   COMMON   LOT 

No,  thank  you !  I  am  not  quite  so  far  gone  yet  as  that, 
my  dear.  You  don't  realize  the  facts." 

His  mind  was  not  open  to  her  conception,  even  in  its 
simplest  application.  To  him  a  small  income  with  its 
manner  of  life  meant  merely  degradation.  She  saw,  as 
never  before,  how  Chicago  had  moulded  him  and  had  left 
his  nature  set  in  a  hard  crust  of  prejudice.  The  great 
industrial  city  where  he  had  learned  the  lesson  of  life 
throttled  the  finer  aspirations  of  men  like  a  remorseless 
giant,  converting  its  youth  into  iron-clawed  beasts  of 
prey,  answering  to  the  one  hoarse  cry,  "  Success,  Success, 
Success ! " 

"  And  how  should  we  educate  the  boys  ?  Think  of  it ! 
How  could  we  give  them  as  good  a  start  in  life  as  we 
had  ?  Why,  it  would  be  criminal  to  them.  It's  nonsense ! " 

"  I  have  thought  of  them,"  she  replied  calmly.  "  And 
I  am  willing  to  take  the  risks  for  them,  too.  I  am  will 
ing  to  see  them  start  in  life  poor,  with  just  what  we 
could  do  for  them.  Perhaps  in  the  world  to  which  they 
will  grow  up,  things  will  be  different,  anyway." 

He  had  tested  her  in  the  tenderest  point,  and  she  was 
stanch.  He  began  to  see  how  far  this  theory  of  living 
and  working  in  the  world  went  with  her.  She  was 
ready  to  put  herself  outside  her  own  class,  and  her 
children  also,  for  the  sake  of  an  idea,  a  feeling  that  she 
had  about  man's  true  purpose  in  life. 

"  I  must  go  to  Powers,  now,"  she  said  at  last,  a  little 
sadly.  Before  she  left  the  room  she  went  up  to  him 
impulsively  and  leaned  her  head  against  his  breast  for  a 
moment.  "  Perhaps  in  time  you  will  come  to  feel  more 


THE  COMMON   LOT  407 

as  I  do.  And,  Francis,  there's  another  reason  why  I 
should  hate  to  have  us  leave  this  place.  I  don't  want 
to  think  that  you  are  running  away  from  the  disgrace, 
from  the  trouble  which  has  happened  here  !"  She  raised 
her  head  proudly.  "  That  is  what  all  cheap  people  do, 
go  to  some  place  where  they  aren't  known ;  as  if  it  mat 
tered  to  us  now  what  people  think  or  say !  I  want  you 
to  stay  right  here,  where  it  happened,  and  make  a  new 
life  here." 

After  she  had  left  him,  he  continued  to  walk  to  and 
fro  in  his  uncle's  old  library,  between  the  heavy  black- 
walnut  bookcases,  where  it  was  permitted  to  him  now  to 
smoke  as  many  cigarettes  as  he  liked.  The  house  had 
been  left  very  much  as  it  was  during  the  old  man's  life. 
Now  that  Mrs.  Amelia  Hart  was  free  to  make  those 
domestic  changes  which  had  been  denied  to  her  while 
the  owner  lived,  she  had  never  come  to  the  necessary 
resolution.  Powers  Jackson's  will  was  still  effective 
with  her,  even  in  death. 

The  architect  thought  of  the  old  man,  wondering 
vaguely  what  he  would  have  said  to  Helen's  argument. 
He  was  not  so  sure  as  formerly  that  he  understood  the 
rough  old  fellow,  who  apparently  had  grasped  the  main 
chance  and  wrung  it  dry.  His  uncle's  purpose  in  en 
dowing  that  school  struck  him  suddenly  as  complex,  and 
also  his  treatment  of  himself.  Possibly  he,  too,  —  the 
successful  man  of  his  day,  —  having  exploited  the  world 
for  forty  years,  had  come  to  the  belief  that  ambition  in 
the  ordinary  sense  of  the  word  was  futile.  .  .  . 


408  THE   COMMON   LOT 

The  architect  had  not  thought  to  sneak  away  from  the 
place  where  he  had  gone  to  failure  when  he  suggested  to 
his  wife  starting  life  once  more  in  a  new  city.  It  had 
seemed  merely  ordinary  good  judgment  to  go  where  he 
should  not  be  hampered  by  a  clouded  past.  And  he 
resented  his  wife's  feeling  that  he  should  remain  and  do 
a  kind  of  penance  for  the  sins  that  he  had  confessed, 
repented,  and  repaired  so  far  as  he  was  able.  She  asked 
too  much  of  him !  He  had  given  up  all  the  money  he 
had,  and  was  ready  to  begin  the  struggle  for  bread  with 
a  fairer  view  of  his  duties.  But  it  seemed  that  that  was 
not  enough  for  her :  she  demanded  now  that  he  sacrifice 
his  ambition,  that  he  return  to  the  ranks,  as  a  draughts 
man,  a  clerk,  a  hireling ! 

Nevertheless,  her  words  worked  unconsciously  in  him, 
for  hers  was  the  stronger  nature.  He  had  lived  his  own 
way  and  had  failed,  rather  miserably.  What  she  wanted 
must,  perforce,  guide  him  increasingly  and  determine 
his  life.  Presently  he  went  upstairs  to  the  child's  room. 
There  in  the  darkened  chamber  Helen  was  kneeling  be 
side  the  bed  holding  little  Powers  in  her  strong  arms. 
The  child  was  asleep,  his  thin  arms  stretched  above  his 
head  along  the  pillow.  In  the  large  bed  the  little  figure, 
white  and  wasted  with  the  lingering  fever  of  his  disease, 
lay  peacefully.  Helen  turned  her  face  to  her  husband 
as  he  entered,  and  he  could  see  the  smile  that  belied  the 
tears  in  her  eyes.  And  as  he  stood  there  in  the  silent 
room  watching  the  two,  the  calm  of  elemental  feeling  stole 
over  him.  The  woman  and  the  child  !  These  were  the 
ancient,  unalterable  factors  of  human  life  ;  outside  of 


THE   COMMON   LOT  409 

them  the  multitudinous  desires  of  men  were  shifting, 
trivial,  little.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  an  indiffer 
ence  to  all  else  in  the  world  swept  over  him  in  gratitude 
for  these  two  gifts.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

DR.  COBURN  had  at  last  found  time  for  the  episode  of 
matrimony,  so  Venetia  announced  to  Helen  one  afternoon. 
She  had  run  in  on  her  way  to  the  city,  and  her  eyes 
sparkled  mischievously  as  she  added :  — 

"  It's  just  as  well  to  have  it  over  before  Mrs.  P.  returns 
—  it  will  save  her  so  much  embarrassment,  you  know. 
She  won't  have  to  strike  an  attitude.  And  it's  lots  easier 
this  way,  no  fuss,  no  bother,  and  you  have  it  all  to  your 
self.  Can  you  and  Jack  come  'round  to-morrow  afternoon 
about  four  ?  Dr.  Knowles's  Church — you  know  where 
it  is.  Don't  be  late."  As  she  started  for  the  door, 
she  turned  swiftly,  threw  her  arms  about  the  older 
woman,  and  kissed  her  vehemently. 

"  Do  you  know,  puss,  I  think  we  are  going  to  be 
awfully  happy  ! "  And  then  she  darted  out  of  the  door. 

They  met  Venetia  and  the  doctor  at  the  door  of  the 
church.  Coburn,  who  had  on  a  new  brown  business 
suit  that  betrayed  its  origin  by  its  numerous  creases, 
grinned  very  broadly  as  he  raised  his  hat  to  Helen. 

"Come  here,  Pete,"  Venetia  called  busily  to  the  old 
terrier,  who  hobbled  after  her.  "  Pete  had  to  come  to  see 
us  married,"  she  explained,  as  she  tied  him  to  the  iron 
fence  near  the  entrance.  "But  I  don't  suppose  Dr. 

410 


THE  COMMON   LOT  411 

Knowles  would  like  to  have  him  come  in  and  sit  in  the 
corner  of  a  pew.  I'm  sure  he'd  behave  very  well,  though ! 
Uncle  Harry  couldn't  come,  poor  dear ;  he's  over  in 
Carlsbad  taking  the  cure,  —  but  he  wrote  such  a  nice 
letter  to  my  man.  We  didn't  ask  anybody  else.  Well, 
are  we  all  ready  ?  " 

"  Just  about ! "  the  doctor  answered  briskly.  "  Fine 
day  for  a  wedding,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Don't  whimper,  Pete,"  Venetia  said  for  a  last  warning, 
turning  to  the  dog,  and  patting  him  once  more.  "  Your 
missy  won't  be  gone  long,  and  when  she  comes  back, 
you'll  have  cream  for  your  supper  and  fruit-cake,  too." 

Then  the  four  walked  up  the  long  aisle  of  the  great 
bare  church,  and  presently  Dr.  Knowles  came  from  the 
vestry  and  performed  the  ceremony.  Venetia  stood  very 
still  and  straight,  drawing  in  her  breath  in  little  gasps, 
looking  very  hard  at  the  broad  face  of  the  minister. 
Coburn,  too,  stood  very  straight,  but  Helen,  who  watched 
the  two  lovingly  while  the  words  of  the  contract  rolled 
forth  in  the  empty  church,  saw  the  look  of  tenderness  in 
the  man's  face  as  his  glance  rested  steadfastly  on  the 
woman  by  his  side. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  were  out  again  in  the  sunlight. 
Pete  was  surrounded  by  a  group  of  small  boys,  who  were 
debating  whether  he  would  bite  if  they  got  near  enough 
to  him. 

"  Here,  boys,"  Venetia  called,  as  she  untied  Pete's 
leash.  "  This  is  the  day  you  must  celebrate !  Give  me 
some  money,  Sayre." 

And  she  distributed  to  the  delighted  urchins  all  the 


412  THE  COMMON  LOT 

silver  that  the  doctor  had  in  his  pockets.  Then  the  four 
went  to  a  restaurant  in  the  city,  where  they  had  dinner 
together,  Jackson  ordering  the  champagne,  and  they 
talked  until  Helen  rose  and  declared  it  was  time  to  leave 
the  bride  and  bridegroom.  The  doctor  and  Venetia 
walked  off  westward  to  their  new  home,  arm  in  arm,  Pete 
dangling  in  the  rear  from  his  leash,  which  his  mistress 
held. 

"  What  good  times  they  will  have !  "  Helen  exclaimed, 
watching  them  bob  across  the  gayly  lighted  thoroughfare, 
dragging  the  terrier  after  them.  "  I  suppose  it's  because 
they're  both  what  Venetia  would  call  'real  clear 
sports.' " 

After  the  newly  married  couple  had  disappeared,  the 
Harts  walked  leisurely  northwards,  and  as  the  night  was 
calm  and  warm,  they  kept  on  beyond  Ohio  Street,  strolling 
along  the  shore  of  the  lake  towards  the  Park.  The 
great  houses  across  the  boulevard  were  already  deserted 
by  their  occupants,  who  had  begun  the  annual  migration. 
The  architect's  eye  roved  over  the  gloomy  facades  of  these 
monstrous  piles  of  brick  and  stone,  to  which  the  toilsome 
steps  of  some  successful  ones  in  the  city  had  led ;  and  he 
began  to  wonder,  as  he  had  when  a  boy,  why  in  this  world, 
which  seemed  to  hold  so  many  pleasant  things,  the 
owners  of  these  ugly  houses  could  be  content  to  live  in 
them.  To  the  boy's  mind  the  ambition  to  encase  one's 
self  in  a  great  dwelling  had  seemed  so  inadequate ! 
Again,  to-night,  he  looked  at  their  burly  shadows,  and 
speculated  over  them  without  envy. 

They  loitered  arm  in  arm  beside  the  sea-wall,  listening 


THE  COMMON  LOT  413 

Jo  the  heaving  lake,  the  cool  splash  of  water  on  the  con 
crete  embankment  below  the  walk. 

"Nell,  I  saw  Wright  to-day,"  he  remarked  thought 
fully,  "  and  had  a  long  talk  with  him." 

She  turned  her  head  and  waited. 

"  He's  a  good  deal  more  of  a  man  than  I  used  to  think 
him !  "  he  went  on  slowly.  "  There  were  a  lot  of  people 
waiting  to  see  him,  and  he  had  to  go  somewhere,  but  he 
didn't  seem  to  mind  that.  I  was  there  with  him  a  long 
time.  I  guess  he  knows  pretty  nearly  all  that  has  hap 
pened  to  me." 

Wright  had  said  nothing  about  the  Glenmore  or  Graves, 
however,  and  Jackson  had  not  gone  into  his  story  very 
far.  But  the  older  man  had  heard,  it  is  true,  something 
here  and  there,  from  this  man  and  that,  over  the  lunch 
table  at  his  club,  from  one  or  two  men  in  his  office.  And 
he  had  imagination  enough  to  picture  the  whole  story. 

"  I  told  him  I  was  thinking  of  going  somewhere  else," 
Jackson  continued  slowly. 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"Oh,  a  good  many  things, — he's  a  pretty  human 
fellow, — looks  at  many  sides  of  a  matter.  Well,  in  the  end 
he  offered  me  a  place  with  him  !  Not  the  old  thing, — 
he's  got  some  new  men  in,  and  can't  put  any  one  ahead  of 
them.  I  guess  he  would  have  to  make  a  place ! " 

She  leaned  forward,  repressing  the  question  that  rose 
swiftly  to  her  lips.  But  after  a  few  moments,  Jackson 
answered  it  slowly. 

"I  told  him  that  I  would  like  to  think  it  over  for  a 
day  or  two." 


414  THE  COMMON    LOT 

She  refrained  still  from  questioning  him,  and  they 
strolled  on  slowly  into  the  park.  There  on  the  benches 
facing  the  lake  sat  many  couples,  crowded  close  together, 
resting  after  the  warm  day's  work.  Along  the  stone  em 
bankment  outside  the  glare  of  the  arc  lights  the  lake 
heaved  in  an  oily  calm  without  a  ripple,  and  from  the 
dark  surface  of  the  water  rose  a  current  of  cold  air.  The 
architect  and  his  wife  turned  back  instinctively  into  the 
empty  darkness  of  the  boulevard. 

"  It's  pretty  good  of  the  old  boy  to  be  willing  to  take 
back  a  man  who's  been  on  his  knees,"  Jackson  mused, 
breaking  the  long  silence  in  which  they  had  walked. 

"  Don't ! "  she  murmured.  "  That  hurts  —  don't  think 
that ! " 

"  Suppose  we  try  it,  Nell,"  he  said  quickly.  "  I  know 
you  would  like  to  have  me  —  and  perhaps  it  is  best." 

"  But  you  mustn't  do  it  just  for  my  sake ! " 

"  I  think  you  are  rather  fussy ! "  he  retorted.  "  Why 
else  should  I  do  it,  my  dear,  dear  wife  ?  " 

"  But  you  might  regret  it,  then !  You  must  be  sure,  — 
not  do  it  just  to  please  me,  but  because  you  see  things  as 
I  do,  and  know  that  it's  the  only  way  for  us  to  live  and 
have  peace." 

Doubtless  she  asked  too  much  of  the  man  she  loved,  foi 
most  beings  —  instinctive  creatures  —  act  from  a  philoso 
phy  of  purely  personal  influences.  Jackson  Hart,  cer 
tainly,  would  never  have  considered  relinquishing  his 
ambition  to  thrust  himself  forward,  to  have  a  career  in 
this  world,  out  of  any  intellectual  convictions.  Nor  could 
it  be  said  that  his  wife's  half -formulated  arguments  had 


THE   COMMON   LOT  415 

persuaded  him.  But  she  herself  had  convinced  him,  the 
strong,  self-contained  womanhood  in  her,  her  undaunted 
spirit,  with  which  he  lived  daily,  and  which  perforce 
colored  his  soul.  Especially,  these  latter  weeks  of  sus 
pense  and  despair,  while  their  child's  life  was  in  the  bal 
ance,  she  had  made  him  hers.  If  it  were  a  victory  for 
the  woman,  it  was  an  emotional  victory,  which  she  had 
won  over  her  husband,  —  and  such  victories  are  the  only 
ones  that  endure  in  these  matters.  He  felt  her  spirit  as  he 
had  never  felt  anything  else,  and  realized  at  last  dimly 
that  in  all  the  big  questions  of  life  she  was  right.  Beau 
tiful,  loving,  strong,  and  fearless,  she  was  his!  And 
what  was  his  "  career "  against  her  heart  and  soul  ? 

"  Perhaps  you  will  regret  it,"  he  remarked  half  play 
fully,  "  and  will  want  me  to  change  later  and  do  better 
by  you  and  the  children." 

"Never,  never!''  She  drew  his  arm  closer  to  her 
breast,  as  if  symbolically  to  show  him  her  absolute 
content  with  what  she  had. 

"  Well,  those  fellows  will  grin  when  I  walk  into  that 
office  after  my  little  splurge !  "  He  swept  his  left  arm 
through  the  air  in  an  arc  to  describe  the  upward  and 
downward  course  of  a  rocket.  "  Into  the  ranks,  at  last ! " 

"  To  work,  and  live,  and  love,  a  little  while,"  she  added 
softly. 

"It  isn't  exactly  the  way  uncle  Powers  solved  the 
problem ! "  he  remarked  teasingly.  "  I  suppose  you 
would  have  had  him  stay  milking  cows  on  that  Vermont 
farm  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  marry  him ! "  she  retorted  swiftly.     "  And 


416  THE  COMMON  LOT 

perhaps  if  he  had  it  to  do  again,  he  would  stay  to  milk 
the  cows." 

"  You  think  so ! "  he  exclaimed  sceptically. 

For  her,  at  least,  there  was  neither  doubt  nor  hesita 
tion.  She  answered  surely  the  inarticulate  call  of  the 
larger  world,  the  call  of  the  multitudes  that  labor  and 
die  without  privilege,  to  share  with  them  the  common 
lot  of  life. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THAT  small  fragment  of  Chicago  society  which  had 
known  the  Jackson  Harts,  and  interested  itself  in  their 
doings,  was  mildly  stirred  over  the  news  that  the  brill 
iant  and  promising  young  architect  had  been  obliged 
to  close  his  office,  and  had  gone  to  work  for  his  old 
employer.  Indeed,  for  some  weeks  the  Harts  furnished 
the  Forest  Park  dinner-tables  with  a  fresh  topic  of  con 
versation  that  took  the  place  of  the  strikes  and  poor 
Anthony  Crawford's  scattered  fortune.  It  contained 
quite  as  much  food  for  marvel  and  moral  reflection  as 
either  of  the  others. 

More  information  about  the  architect's  troubles  than 
that  provided  by  the  press  had  got  abroad  in  Forest 
Park  and  the  Shoreham  Club.  It  was  well  known,  foi 
instance,  that  Hart  had  been  obliged  to  dissolve  his  part 
nership  with  Freddie  Stewart,  owing  to  grave  business 
irregularities,  which  extended  beyond  his  connection  with 
the  recent  disaster.  It  was  generally  agreed  that  his 
offences  must  have  been  very  grave  indeed  to  necessitate, 
at  his  age,  with  his  influential  connection,  such  a  radical 
change  of  caste  as  had  happened.  Men  commonly  ex 
pressed  their  contempt  because  at  a  crisis  he  had  shown 
such  a  deplorable  "  lack  of  nerve."  They  said,  and  among 

2E  417 

v 


418  THE   COMMON   LOT 

them  were  some  of  the  architect's  more  intimate  friends, 
that  nothing  he  had  done  could  justify  this  tame  sub 
mission.  "Why!"  Mrs.  Phillips  exclaimed  when  she 
heard  of  it,  "  we've  seen  men  live  down  things  ten  times 
worse.  There  was  Peter  Sewall,  and  old  Preston,  and 
the  banker  Potts,  and  a  dozen  more.  They  are  as  good 
as  any  of  us  to-day !  And  he  needn't  have  told  every 
thing  he  knew,  anyhow,  to  that  old  coroner."  The 
measure  of  a  man's  guilt,  in  her  eyes  and  those  of  many 
others,  was  what  he  was  willing  to  admit  to  the  world. 
"  But  it's  that  wife  of  his ! "  the  widow  continued  bitterly. 
"  She  never  had  any  spirit ;  she  was  cut  out  for  a  clerk's 
wife.  I  have  always  felt  that  she  was  responsible  for 
Venetia's  trouble.  Well,  she's  got  to  her  level  at  last ! " 

Finally,  this  portion  of  the  great  public  held  that 
under  the  circumstances  the  architect  had  shown  singu 
larly  little  judgment  in  staying  on  in  the  city:  there 
was  no  "future"  for  him,  under  the  circumstances,  in 
Chicago.  If  he  felt  himself  unable  to  hold  his  own 
against  scandal,  they  argued,  he  should  have  the  wit 
to  leave  the  city  where  he  had  gone  wrong  and  seek  his 
fortune  under  new  skies,  where  the  faces  of  his  success 
ful  friends  would  not  remind  him  constantly  of  ignoble 
defeat. 

Not  that  Jackson  Hart  had  many  opportunities  of 
encountering  his  successful  friends  in  the  great  city  of 
Chicago,  He  had  resigned  from  his  club,  and  the  Harts 
had  moved  very  far  away  from  the  pleasant  suburbs 
along  the  lake  which  were  filled  with  their  old  acquaint 
ances.  They  had  gone  to  live  in  one  of  those  flimsy 


THE  COMMON   LOT  419 

flat-buildings  in  the  southern  part  of  the  city,  concerning 
which  the  architect  had  speculated  the  night  the  Glen- 
more  was  burned.  It  was  near  the  street-car  line,  for 
the  matter  of  a  nickel  fare  was  now  of  importance  in 
their  domestic  economy.  Occasionally,  some  one  of  the 
Forest  Park  ladies  would  report  on  her  return  from 
the  city  that  she  had  run  across  Mrs.  Hart  at  Steele's, 
"  looking  old  and  queerer  than  ever,  dressed  in  the* 
old  things  she  wore  out  here,  as  if  she  didn't  care 
whether  school  kept  or  not,  poor  thing ! "  But  in  the 
murky  light  of  Steele's  great  shop,  they  could  not  have 
seen  the  serene,  almost  radiant  beauty  of  the  woman's 
face,  the  beauty  of  a  soul  content  with  its  vision  of 
the  world,  in  harmony  with  itself. 

And  Jackson,  "  reduced  to  the  ranks  "  by  a  few  grades, 
in  that  career  of  his,  which  he  dubbed  good-hum  or  edly 
"  From  shirt-sleeves  to  shirt-sleeves,  in  three  acts,"  was 
developing  certain  patient  virtues  of  inestimable  charm 
in  the  domestic  circles  of  plain  life,  though  not  essential 
for  brilliant  success.  In  his  box  of  an  office  next  Wright's 
large  draughting-room,  he  worked  almost  side  by  side 
with  his  former  draughtsman  Cook,  who  had  also  come 
back  to  the  old  firm.  For  some  months  they  hardly 
spoke  to  each  other ;  indeed,  the  men  in  Wright's  gener 
ally  held  aloof  from  Hart.  But  they  have  accepted  him 
at  last.  Cook  has  begun,  even,  to  regain  some  of  his  old 
admiration  for  his  chief,  comprehending,  perhaps,  that 
in  the  office  by  his  side  there  is  slowly  working  out  a 
career  of  real  spiritual  significance,  if  of  little  outward 
display. 


420  THE  COMMOK  LOT 

As  to  Wright,  who  knows  more  of  the  man's  real  story 
than  the  others,  he  treats  his  old  employee  with  a  fine 
consideration  and  respect,  realizing  that  this  man  is  doing 
handsomely  a  thing  that  few  men  have  the  character  to 
do  at  all.  His  admiration  for  Hart's  work  has  grown, 
also,  and  he  frankly  admits  that  the  younger  man  has  a 
better  talent  for  architecture  than  he  himself  ever 
possessed,  as  well  as  great  cleverness  and  ingenuity,  so 
necessary  in  an  art  which  is  intimately  allied  with 
mechanics.  For  it  is  true  that  after  sluggish  years  there 
has  revived  within  Hart  the  creative  impulse,  that  spirit 
of  the  artist,  inherent  to  some  extent  in  all  men,  which 
makes  the  work  of  their  hands  an  engrossing  joy.  The 
plans  of  a  group  of  buildings,  which  the  firm  have  under 
taken  for  a  university  in  a  far  Western  state,  have  been 
entrusted  very  largely  to  Hart.  As  they  grow  from 
month  to  month  in  the  voluminous  sheets  of  drawings, 
they  are  becoming  the  pride  of  the  office.  And  Wright 
generously  allots  the  praise  for  their  beauty  where  it 
largely  belongs. 

Thus  the  social  waters  of  the  fast-living  city  are 
rapidly  rolling  over  the  Jackson  Harts.  In  all  probabil 
ity  they  will  never  again  in  this  life  come  to  the  surface, 
and  call  for  comment;  for  the  architect  and  his  wife 
have  already  sunk  into  the  insignificance  of  the  common 
lot,  so  much  praised  by  the  poets,  so  much  despised  by  our 
good  Americans  of  the  "  strenuous  "  school.  They  have 
had  their  opportunities  to  better  themselves  in  the 
worldly  scale,  but  there  has  never  been  any  question 
between  husband  and  wife  of  a  change  in  their  social  or 


THE   COMMON  LOT  421 

material  condition.  They  even  contemplate  with  equa 
nimity  leaving  their  children  in  the  universal  struggle  no 
better  equipped  than  with  the  possession  of  health  and  a 
modest  education,  —  there  to  meet  their  fate  as  their 
parents  have  done  before  them. 

Almost  the  last  public  appearance  of  the  Jackson 
Harts  in  that  portion  of  the  Chicago  world  which  had 
formerly  known  them  occurred  at  the  elaborate  dedica 
tory  exercises  of  the  JACKSON  INDUSTRIAL  INSTITUTE. 
When  the  handsomely  engraved  invitation  came  to  them, 
the  architect  was  disinclined  to  attend ;  but  Helen,  who 
thought  only  of  the  old  man's  probable  wish  in  the 
matter,  induced  her  husband  to  take  her.  The  exercises 
were  held  in  the  pretty  little  auditorium  which  occupied 
one  wing  of  the  large  school  building.  There  was  much 
ceremony,  and  numerous  speeches,  besides  the  oration 
delivered  by  the  director,  Dr.  Everest,  on  "Modern 
Industrialism,"  which  was  considered  a  masterpiece  of 
its  kind  and  was  afterwards  printed  and  circulated  by 
the  trustees.  A  bust  of  the  founder,  which  fronted  the 
stage,  was  first  unveiled  amid  great  applause.  Dr. 
Everest  in  the  introduction  of  his  oration  turned  from 
time  to  time  to  apostrophize  its  rugged  marble  features, 
while  he  paid  his  tribute  to  the  founder  of  the  institu 
tion.  What  the  old  m  an — who  had  always  avoided  voluble 
people  like  the  pest  —  would  have  thought  of  the  liberal 
eulogy  scattered  on  his  head,  and  of  the  eloquent  dis 
course  that  followed,  on  the  future  of  education  and  the 
working-man,  no  one  will  ever  know.  The  rough  old  face 


422  THE   COMMON   LOT 

looking  inscrutably  down  on  the  little,  bald-headed  figure 
of  the  director  gave  no  sign. 

During  the  lengthy  oration  the  architect's  thoughts  went 
wandering  far  astray  back  into  his  past,  so  closely  involved 
with  this  handsome  building.  But  Helen  listened  atten 
tively  to  the  director's  flowing  periods,  searching  his 
phrases  for  an  interpretation  of  his  purposes  in  regard  to 
the  school.  Dr.  Everest,  however,  was  far  too  wary  an 
educator  to  commit  himself  to  positive  ideas.  Yet  in  the 
maze  of  his  discourse  there  might  be  gathered  hints  of 
his  attitude  toward  the  problem  of  industrial  education. 
After  the  opening  tribute  to  the  founder, "  whom  we  may 
call  a  typical  leader  of  our  triumphant  industrial  democ 
racy,"  the  speaker  dwelt  glowingly  on  the  advanced 
position  of  our  country  among  the  nations  of  the  earth, 
attributing  its  phenomenal  progress  to  the  nature  of  its 
political  and  educational  institutions,  which  had  de 
veloped  and  encouraged  the  energies  of  such  men  as 
Powers  Jackson :  — 

"  We  lead  the  nations  of  the  world  in  the  arts  of  peace, 
owing  to  the  energy  and  genius  of  men  like  our  noble 
benefactor,  owing,  I  may  say,  still  more  to  the  character 
of  our  institutions,  political  and  educational,  which  pro 
duce  such  men  as  he  was ! "  Then  followed  a  flattering  con 
trast  between  the  "  aristocratic  and  mediseval  education  " 
of  the  English  universities  and  the  older  American  col 
leges,  and  the  broad,  liberal  spirit  of  newer  institutions, 
especially  technical  schools.  The  intention  of  the  founder 
of  the  Jackson  Industrial  Institute,  he  said,  was  to  broaden 
the  democratic  ideal,  "  to  bring  within  the  reach  of  every 


THE   COMMON   LOT  423 

child  in  this  greatest  of  industrial  metropoli,  not  only 
the  rudiments  of  an  education,  but  the  most  advanced 
technical  training,  by  means  of  which  he  may  raise  him 
self  among  his  fellows  and  advance  the  illimitable  creative 
ingenuity  of  our  race.  Here  will  come  the  boy  whose 
father  labors  at  the  bottom  of  the  industrial  ladder,  and 
if  he  be  worthy,  if  he  have  the  necessary  talent  and  the 
industry,  here  in  our  workshops  and  laboratories  he  may 
fit  himself  to  mount  to  the  very  top  of  that  ladder,  and 
become  in  turn  a  master  and  leader  of  men,  like  our 
great  benefactor !  And  we  may  well  believe  that  the 
sight  of  those  benignant  features  will  be  an  inspiration 
to  the  youth  to  strive  even  as  he  strove.  That  face  will 
kindle  the  noble  ambitions  of  the  learner,  who  will  remem 
ber  that  our  good  founder  once  labored  with  his  own  hands 
at  the  forge  not  far  from  this  monument  to  his  greatness, 
and  that  he  rose  by  his  own  unaided  industry  and  ability 
to  command  thousands  of  operatives,  to  control  millions 
of  capital,  yes,  to  influence  the  wide  industrial  world ! 

"  In  America,  thank  God,  the  poor  man  may  yet  rise 
to  a  position  of  leadership,  if  he  be  worthy.  And  what 
the  world  needs  to-day  more  than  all  else  is  leaders, 
leaders  of  men.  May  we  not  prophesy  that  the  Jackson 
Industrial  Institute  will  be  a  large  factor,  yes,  the  largest 
factor  of  this  great  city,  in  educating  leaders,  and  thus 
assisting  to  put  an  end  to  that  wasteful  and  distressing 
antagonism  between  capital  and  labor  ?  By  the  means 
of  the  education  here  provided,  young  men  may  raise 
themselves  from  the  ranks  of  common  labor  to  the  posi 
tion  and  responsibilities  of  capital !  Let  us  hope  that 


424  THE   COMMON   LOT 

this  will  be  the  happy  result  of  an  educational  foundation 
provided  by  a  great  captain  of  industry,  and  placed  here 
in  the  heart  of  the  workshops  of  Chicago.  Thus  may  we 
assist  in  preserving  and  fostering  the  spirit  of  our  noble 
institutions  by  means  of  which  man  is  given  freedom  to 
reap  the  fruits  of  his  own  labor  and  intelligence  ! "  .  .  . 

And  Dr.  Everest  continued  on  this  plane  of  eloquence 
for  another  half-hour,  until  even  Judge  Phillips,  who 
had  listened  with  rapt  attention,  began  to  nod  in  his 
chair.  At  last,  when  the  doctor  sat  down,  stroking  his 
thick  black  beard  and  wiping  his  shining  brow,  loud 
applause  broke  forth  from  all  parts  of  the  auditorium. 
The  applause  sounded  much  like  the  ironic  laughter  of 
the  gods  over  the  travesty  of  the  old  man's  purpose,  to 
which  they  had  just  listened. 

To  Helen,  especially,  it  seemed  that  no  more  complete 
twisting  of  his  idea  in  thus  bestowing  his  wealth  were  pos 
sible  !  However,  the  great  school  stands  there,  in  the  neigh 
borhood  where  his  old  operatives  live,  —  stands  there  and 
will  stand  there  for  many  years,  mistaken  or  not  in  its 
aims  as  one  looks  at  this  world  of  ours ;  and  some  day, 
maybe,  when  Dr.  Everest  has  grasped  some  new  form 
of  the  educational  main  chance,  it  may  fall  into  other 
hands  and  become  more  nearly  what  its  founder  meant 
it  to  be,  —  a  source  of  help  and  inspiration  to  the  com 
mon  man,  who  must  labor  all  his  days  at  common  tasks, 
and  can  look  to  no  material  advancement  in  this  life. 

After  the  exercises  the  rooms  of  the  building  were 
thrown  open  for  inspection,  and  the  guests  strolled 


THE  COMMON   LOT  425 

through  the  laboratories  and  workshops  in  little  parties, 
discussing  the  oration  and  exclaiming  over  the  magnifi 
cence  of  the  appointments.  The  Harts  wandered  over 
the  school  with  the  rest,  and  the  architect  looked  about 
him  with  a  certain  curiosity.  As  they  returned  to  the 
main  hall  under  the  rotunda,  he  exclaimed,  peering  up 
into  the  dome,  "Nell,  I  can't  seem  to  remember  this 
place :  it  looks  queer  and  strange  to  me,  as  if  some 
body  else  had  done  the  plans,  and  I  had  just  looked 
over  them ! " 

"  Somebody  else  did  do  them,"  she  answered,  drawing 
him  away  from  a  group  of  people  who  had  come  out  of 
one  of  the  adjoining  rooms. 

In  a  little  while  they  got  their  wraps  and  prepared 
to  leave  the  institution,  having  a  long  journey  before 
them  to  reach  their  home.  As  they  crossed  the  entrance 
hall,  they  ran  into  Pemberton,  who  was  alone.  He 
bowed  to  Helen  as  though  he  meant  to  speak  to  her,  and 
then  catching  sight  of  Jackson,  who  was  behind  her,  he 
merely  bent  his  head  the  fraction  of  an  inch,  and,  stepping 
to  one  side,  passed  on.  He  could  not,  evidently,  forgive 
a  stain  upon  a  man's  honor,  arrogating  to  himself,  as  so 
many  of  us  do,  the  privileges  of  deity.  The  architect's 
face  flushed  at  the  slight,  and  he  hurried  his  steps 
toward  the  vestibule.  As  they  passed  through  the  broad 
doorway,  he  said  to  his  wife :  — 

"Well,  Nell,  I  suppose  I  deserved  it,  —  the  old 
Turk ! " 

"No,  you  did  not  deserve  it!"  she  replied  swiftly. 
"  But  it  makes  no  difference,  dear ! " 


426  THE   COMMON  LOT 

And,  fortunately,  there  are  few  things  that  do  make 
any  great  difference  to  real  men  and  women,  —  and  one 
of  the  least  is  the  casual  judgment  of  their  fellow-men. 


/TVHE  following  pages  are  advertisements  of  other  volumes  in 
this  Series,  and  The  Macmillan  Standard  Library. 


The  Modern  Fiction  Library 


A  new  and  important  series  of  some  of  the  best  popular  novels 
which  have  been  published  in  recent  years. 

These  successful  books  are  now  made  available  at  a  popular  price 
in  response  to  the  insistent  demand  for  cheaper  editions. 

The  authors  include  such  well-known  names  as  : 

JACK  LONDON  JAMES  LANE  ALLEN 

ROBERT  HERRICK  WILLIAM   STEARNS  DAVIS 

H.  G.  WELLS  E.  V.  LUCAS 

RICHARD   WASHBURN  CHILD  CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS 

ELIZABETH  ROBINS  Mrs.  ROGER  A.  PRYOR 


Each  volume,  Cloth,  12mo,  SO  cents  net;  postage,  10  cents  extra 


Burning  Daylight 

By  JACK  LONDON 

"  Burning  Daylight "  is  just  the  kind  of  a  story  that  Jack  Lon 
don  loves  to  write  —  the  story  of  the  struggles  of  a  strong  man 
in  a  world  of  strong  men.  Moreover,  it  is  a  story  which  he  has 
written  purely  for  the  story's  sake  —  he  does  not  preach  any 
thing  in  it.  This  fact  will  make  it  appeal  to  those  who  dislike 
to  have  their  socialism,  or  whatever  it  may  be,  mixed  up  with 
their  fiction.  "Jack  London,"  The  Springfield  Union  writes, 
"has  outdone  himself  in  '  Burning  Daylight.'  "  The  book  gets 
its  title  from  the  hero  who  is  nicknamed  "  Burning  Daylight " 
because  it  was  his  custom  at  the  first  intimation  of  daylight  to 
rout  out  his  companions  for  the  day's  work,  so  there  would  be 
no  waste  of  the  daylight  hours,  or  in  other  words,  no  burning  of 
daylight. 

The  Reign   of  Law        A  Tale  of  the  Kentucky  Hempfields 

By  JAMES  LANE  ALLEN 

"  Mr.  Allen  has  a  style  as  original  and  almost  as  perfectly  fin 
ished  as  Hawthorne's,  and  he  has  also  Hawthorne's  fondness  for 
spiritual  suggestions  that  make  all  his  stories  rich  in  the  quali 
ties  that  are  lacking  in  so  many  novels  of  the  period."  —  San 
Francisco  Chronicle. 

3 


THE  MODERN  FICTION  LIBRARY  —  Continued 


Kings  in  Exile 

By  CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS 

"  *  Kings  in  Exile,'  a  book  of  animal  stories  by  Charles  G.  D. 
Roberts,  is  a  series  of  unusually  fascinating  tales  of  the  sea  and 
woods.  The  author  catches  the  spirit  of  forest  and  sea  life,  and 
the  reader  comes  to  have  a  personal  love  and  knowledge  of  our 
animal  relations."  —  Boston  Globe. 

A  Kentucky  Cardinal 

By  JAMES  LANE  ALLEN 

"  A  narrative,  told  with  naive  simplicity  in  the  first  person,  of 
how  a. man  who  was  devoted  to  his  fruits  and  flowers  and  birds 
came  to  fall  in  love  with  a  fair  neighbor,  who  treated  him  at  first 
with  whimsical  raillery  and  coquetry,  and  who  finally  put  his 
love  to  the  supreme  test."  —  New  York  Tribune. 

Elizabeth  and  her  German  Garden 

"It  is  full  of  nature  in  many  phases  —  of  breeze  and  sunshine, 
of  the  glory  of  the  land,  and  the  sheer  joy  of  living.  Merry  and 
wise,  clever  and  lovable,  as  polished  as  it  is  easy  ...  a  book 
for  frequent  reading  as  for  wholesome  enjoyment." — New  York 
Times. 

The  Colonel's  Story 

By  Mrs.  ROGER  A.  PRYOR 

In  this  novel,  Mrs.  Pryor,  well  known  and  loved  for  her  charm 
ing  reminiscences  and  books  about  the  old  South,  has  pictured 
life  in  Virginia  sixty  or  seventy  years  ago.  The  story  she  has 
told  is  one  in  which  the  spirit  of  the  times  figures  largely ;  ad 
venture  and  romance  have  their  play  and  carry  the  plot  to  a 
satisfying  end.  It  would  be  difficult,  indeed,  if  not  impossible, 
to  find  a  fitter  pen  to  portray  the  various  features  of  Virginia 
life  and  culture  than  Mrs.  Pryor,  who  is  "  to  the  manor  born," 
and  was  raised  amid  the  memories  of  a  past  where,  until  the 
war  for  Southern  independence,  families  retained  their  social 
standing  and  customs  from  generation  to  generation. 
4 


THE  MODERN  FICTION  LIBRARY  —  Continued 


A  Friend  of  Caesar 

By  WILLIAM  STEARNS  DAVIS 

"As  a  story  .  .  .  there  can  be  no  question  of  its  success.  .  .  . 
While  the  beautiful  love  of  Cornelia  and  Drusus  lies  at  the 
sound,  sweet  heart  of  the  story,  to  say  so  is  to  give  a  most 
meagre  idea  of  the  large  sustained  interest  of  the  whole.  .  .  . 
There  are  many  incidents  so  vivid,  so  brilliant,  that  they  fix 
themselves  in  the  memory."  .  .  .  —  NANCY  HUSTON  BANKS 
in  The  Bookman. 

Jim  Hands 

By  RICHARD  WASHBtIRN  CHILD 

"A  big,  simple,  leisurely  moving  chronicle  of  life.  The  one 
who  relates  it  is  Jim  Hands,  an  Irish-American,  patient,  honest, 
shrewd,  and  as  dependable  as  Gibraltar  itself.  .  .  .  The 
'heady'  member  of  Jim's  excellent  family  is  the  daughter  Kath- 
erine,  whose  love  affair  with  the  boss's  son,  Robert,  is  tenderly 
and  delicately  imparted.  ...  A  story  study  of  character  in 
many  lights  and  shadows  .  .  .  touches  of  sublime  self-sacrifice 
and  telling  pictures  of  mutual  helpfulness  and  disinterested 
kindness.  ...  In  its  frequent  digressions,  in  its  shrewd  ob 
servations  of  life,  in  its  genuine  humor  and  large  outlook  reveals 
a  personality  which  commands  the  profoundest  respect  and  ad 
miration.  Jim  is  a  real  man,  sound  and  fine."  —  Daily  News. 

A  Dark  Lantern 

By  ELIZABETH  ROBINS 

A  powerful  and  striking  novel,  English  in  scene,  which  takes  an 
essentially  modern  view  of  society  and  of  certain  dramatic  situ 
ations.  The  "Dark  Lantern"  is  a  brusque,  saturnine,  strong- 
willed  doctor,  who  makes  wonderful  cures,  bullies  his  patients, 
and  is  hated  and  sought  after.  The  book  has  the  absorbing 
interest  of  a  strong  and  moving  story,  varied  in  its  scenes  and 
characters,  and  sustained  throughout  on  high  spiritual,  intel 
lectual,  and  emotional  planes. 
5 


THE  MODERN  FICTION  LIBRARY  —  Continued 


The  Wheels  of  Chance 

By  H.  G.  WELLS 

"  Mr.  Wells  is  beyond  question  the  most  plausible  romancer  of 
the  time.  ...  He  unfolds  a  breathlessly  interesting  story  of 
battle  and  adventure,  but  all  the  time  he  is  thinking  of  what  our 
vaunted  strides  in  mechanical  invention  may  come  to  mean. 
.  .  .  Again  and  again  the  story,  absorbing  as  it  is,  brings  the 
reader  to  a  reflective  pause."  ...  —  The  New  York  Tribune. 

The  Common  Lot 

By  ROBERT  HERRICK 

A  story  of  present-day  life,  intensely  real  in  its  picture  of  a 
young  architect  whose  ideals  in  the  beginning  were,  at  their 
highest,  aesthetic  rather  than  spiritual.  He  has  been  warped 
and  twisted  by  sordid  commercial  strife  until  "the  spirit  of 
greed  has  eaten  him  through  and  through."  Then  comes  the 
revelation  of  himself,  —  in  a  disaster  due  in  part  to  his  own 
connivance  in  "graft," — and  his  gradual  regeneration.  The  in 
fluence  of  his  wife's  standards  on  his  own  and  on  their  family  life 
is  finely  brought  out.  It  is  an  unusual  novel  of  great  interest. 

Mr.  Ingleside 

By  E.  V.  LUCAS 

Mr.  E.  V.  Lucas  early  achieved  enviable  fame  and  became  well 
known  as  the  clever  author  of  delightful  books  of  travel,  and 
charming  anthologies  of  prose  and  verse. 

When  "Over  Bemerton's,"  his  first  novel,  was  published,  his 
versatility  and  charm  as  a  writer  of  fiction  stood  fully  revealed. 
He  displayed  himself  as  an  intellectual  and  amusing  observer  of 
life's  foibles  with  a  hero  characterized,  says  the  Independent,  by 
"  inimitable  kindness  and  humor." 

In  "  Mr.  Ingleside "  he  has  again  written  a  story  of  high  ex 
cellence,  individual  and  entertaining.  With  its  quiet  calm 
reflection,  its  humorous  interpretation  of  life  and  its  delightful 
situations  and  scenes  it  reminds  one  of  the  literary  excursions 
and  charms  of  the  leaders  of  the  early  Victorian  era. 
6 


The  Macmillan  Standard  Library 

Each  volume,  Cloth,  12mo,  SO  cents 


This  series  has  taken  its  place  as  one  of  the  most  important  popular- 
priced  editions.  The  "  Library  "  includes  only  those  books  which  have 
been  put  to  the  test  of  public  opinion  and  have  not  been  found  wanting, 
books,  in  other  words,  which  have  come  to  be  regarded  as  standards  in  the 
fields  of  knowledge  —  literature,  religion,  biography,  history,  politics,  art, 
economics,  sports,  sociology,  and  belles  lettres.  Together  they  make  the 
most  complete  and  authoritative  works  on  the  several  subjects. 


Notable  Additions  to  the  Macmillan  Standard  Library 


Bailey,  L.  H. 

THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  MOVEMENT  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES 
"...  clearly  thought  out,  admirably  written,  and  always  stimulating  in 
its  generalization  and  in  the  perspectives  it  opens."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 
"  Concise  and  straightforward  to  the  point  of  bareness  in  its  presentation 
of  facts,  arguments,  and  plans,  its  every  sentence  is  packed  so  full  of  what 
the  author  thinks,  knows,  and  hopes  of  the  condition,  prospects,  and  possi 
bilities  of  rural  life,  that  the  volume  comes  as  near  to  being  solid  meat  as 
any  book  can  come."  —  New  York  Times. 

Conyngton,  Mary 

HOW  TO  HELP:     A  MANUAL  OF  PRACTICAL  CHARITY 

"  It  is  an  exceedingly  comprehensive  work,  and  its  chapters  on  the  home 
less  man  and  woman,  its  care  of  needy  families,  and  the  discussion  of  the 
problems  of  child  labor  will  prove  of  value  to  the  philanthropic  worker." 

French,  Allen 

HOW  TO  GROW  VEGETABLES 

"  It  is  particularly  valuable  to  a  beginner  in  vegetable  gardening,  giving 
not  only  a  convenient  and  reliable  planting-table,  but  giving  particular 
attention  to  the  culture  of  the  vegetables."  —  Suburban  Life. 

Hapgood,  Norman 

LINCOLN,  ABRAHAM,  THE  MAN  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

"  A  life  of  Lincoln  that  has  never  been  surpassed  in  vividness,  compact 
ness,  and  lifelike  reality."  —  Chicago  Tribune. 

"  Mr.  Hapgood  is  not  depicting  a  mere  model  here,  but  a  living,  awk 
ward,  fallible,  steadfast,  noble  man."  —  Boston  Globe. 

7 


THE  MACMILLAN  STANDARD  LIBRARY  —  Continued 


Hearn,  Lafcadio 

JAPAN:    AN  ATTEMPT  AT  INTERPRETATION 

"  A  thousand  books  have  been  written  about  Japan,  but  this  one  is 
one  of  the  rarely  precious  volumes  which  opens  the  door  to  an  intimate 
acquaintance  with  the  wonderful  people  who  command  the  attention  of 
the  world  to-day."  —  Boston  Herald. 

Lyon,  D.  Everett 

HOW  TO  KEEP  BEES  FOR  PROFIT 

"  A  book  which  gives  an  insight  into  the  life  history  of  the  bee  family, 
pointing  out  the  various  methods  by  which  bee-keeping  may  be  made  of 
increased  interest  and  profit,  as  well  as  telling  the  novice  how  to  start  an 
apiary  and  care  for  it."  —  Country  Life  in  America. 

McLennan,  John 

A  MANUAL  OF  PRACTICAL  FARMING 

"  No  better  adjective  can  be  used  in  describing  this  book  than  the  one 
included  in  the  title  "practical,"  for  the  author  has  placed  before  the 
reader  in  the  simplest  terms  a  means  of  assistance  in  the  ordinary  problems 
of  farming."  —  National  Nurseryman. 

Mathews,  Shailer 

THE  CHURCH  AND  THE  CHANGING  ORDER 
"The  book  throughout  is  characterized  by  good  sense  and  restraint. 
...    A  notable  book  and  one  that  every  Christian  may  read  with  profit." 
—  The  Living  Church. 

St.  Maur,  Kate  V. 

A  SELF-SUPPORTING  HOME 

"  Each  chapter  is  the  detailed  account  of  all  the  work  necessary  for  one 
month  • —  in  the  vegetable  garden,  among  the  small  fruits,  with  the  fowls, 
guineas,  rabbits,  caries,  and  in  every  branch  of  husbandry  to  be  met  with 
on  the  small  farm.  —  Louisville  Courier-Journal. 

Valentine,  C.  S. 

HOW  TO  KEEP  HENS  FOR  PROFIT 

"  Those  who  have  been  looking  for  the  reason  why  their  poultry  ven 
tures  were  not  yielding  a  fair  profit,  those  who  are  just  starting  in  the 
poultry  business,  and  seasoned  poultrymen  will  all  find  in  it  much  of 
value."  —  Chicago  Tribune. 

8 


Other  Volumes  in  the  Macmillan  Standard  Library 


Addams,  Jane 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  YOUTH  AND  THE  CITY  STREETS 

"  Shows  such  sanity,  such  breadth  and  tolerance  of  mind,  and  such  pene 
tration  into  the  inner  meanings  of  outward  phenomena  as  to  make  it  a 
book  which  no  one  can  afford  to  miss.  —  New  York  Times. 

Campbell,  R.  J. 

THE  NEW  THEOLOGY 

"  A  fine  contribution  to  the  better  thought  of  our  times  and  written  in 
the  spirit  of  the  Master."  —  St.  Paul  Dispatch. 

Clark,  T.  M. 

THE  CARE  OF  A  HOUSE 

"  If  the  average  man  knew  one-tenth  of  what  Mr.  Clark  tells  him  in 
this  book,  he  would  be  able  to  save  money  every  year  on  repairs,  etc."  — 
Chicago  Tribune. 

Coolidge,  Archibald  Gary 

THE  UNITED  STATES  AS  A  WORLD  POWER 

"Justly  entitled  to  recognition  as  a  work  of  real  distinction  ...  it 
moves  the  reader  to  thought."  —  Nation. 

Croly,  Herbert 

THE  PROMISE  OF  AMERICAN  LIFE 

"  The  most  profound  and  illuminating  study  of  our  national  conditions 
which  has  appeared  in  many  years.  —  Theodore  Roosevelt. 

Ely,  Richard  T. 

MONOPOLIES  AND  TRUSTS 

"  The  evils  of  monopoly  are  plainly  stated  and  remedies  are  proposed. 
This  book  should  be  a  help  to  every  man  in  active  business  life."  —  Balti 
more  Sun. 

Haultain,  Arnold 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  GOLF 

"  It  is  more  than  a  golf  book.  There  is  interwoven  with  it  a  play  of 
mild  philosophy  and  of  pointed  wit."  —  Boston  Globe. 

9 


THE  MACMILLAN  STANDARD   LIBRARY  —  Continued 


Hillquit,  Morris 

SOCIALISM  IN  THEORY  AND  PRACTICE 

"  An  interesting  historical  sketch  of  the  movement."  —  Newark  Evening 
News. 

Home,  C.  Silvester 

DAVID  LIVINGSTONE 

The  centenary  edition  of  this  popular  work.  A  clear,  simple,  narrative 
biography  of  the  great  missionary,  explorer,  and  scientist. 

Hunter,  Robert 

POVERTY 

"Mr.  Hunter's  book  is  at  once  sympathetic  and  scientific.  He  brings 
to  the  task  a  store  of  practical  experience  in  settlement  work  gathered  in 
many  parts  of  the  country."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

SOCIALISTS  AT  WORK 

"  A  vivid,  running  characterization  of  the  foremost  personalities  in  the 
Socialist  movement  throughout  the  world."  —  Review  of  Reviews. 

King,  Henry  Churchill 

THE  ETHICS  OF  JESUS 

"I  know  no  other  study  of  the  ethical  teaching  of  Jesus  so  scholarly, 
careful,  clear,  and  compact  as  this." —  G.  H.  Palmer,  Harvard  Univer 
sity. 

RATIONAL  LIVING 

"  An  able  conspectus  of  modern  psychological  investigation,  viewed  from 
the  Christian  standpoint."  —  Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

London,  Jack 

REVOLUTION,  AND  OTHER  ESSAYS 
THE  WAR  OF  THE  CLASSES 

"  Mr.  London's  book  is  thoroughly  interesting,  and  his  point  of  view  is 
very  different  from  that  of  the  closet  theorist."  —  Springfield  Repub 
lican. 

10 


THE   MACMILLAN   STANDARD   LIBRARY  —  Continued 


Mabie,  Hamilton  W. 

WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE:     POET,  DRAMATIST,  AND  MAN 

"  It  is  rather  an  interpretation  than  a  record." —  Chicago  Standard. 

Mathews,  Shailer 

THE  GOSPEL  AND  THE  MODERN  MAN 

"A  succinct  statement  of  the  essentials  of  the  New  Testament."  — 
Service. 

Patten,  Simon  N. 

THE  SOCIAL  BASIS  OF  RELIGION 

"A  work'of  substantial  value." —  Continent. 

Peabody,  Francis  Greenwood 

THE  APPROACH  TO  THE  SOCIAL  QUESTION 

"This  book  is  at  once  the  most  delightful,  persuasive  and  sagacious 
contribution  to  the  subject.  —  Louisville  Courier-Journal 

Rauschenbusch,  Walter 

CHRISTIANITY  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CRISIS 

"  It  is  a  book  to  like,  to  learn  from,  and  to  be  charmed  with." — New 
York  Times. 

Riis,  Jacob 

THEODORE  ROOSEVELT,  THE  CITIZEN 

"  A  refreshing  and  stimulating  picture."  —  New  York  Tribune. 

Ryan,  (Rev.)  J.  A. 

A  LIVING  WAGE:    ITS  ETHICAL  AND  ECONOMIC  ASPECTS 

"The  most  judicious  and  balanced  discussion  at  the  disposal  of  the 
general  reader."  —  World  To-day. 

Sherman,  L.  A. 

WHAT  IS  SHAKESPEARE? 

"  Emphatically  a  work  without  which  the  library  of  the  Shakespeare 
student  will  be  incomplete."  —  Daily  Telegraph. 

II 


THE  MACMILLAN  STANDARD  LIBRARY  —  Continued 

Sidgwick,  A. 

HOME  LIFE  IN  GERMANY 

Smith,  J.  Allen 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  AMERICAN  GOVERNMENT 

"  Not  since  Bryce's  '  American  Commonwealth '  has  a  book  been  pro 
duced  which  deals  so  searchingly  with  American  political  institutions  and 
their  history."  —  New  York  Evening  Telegram. 

Spargo,  John 

SOCIALISM 

"  One  of  the  ablest  expositions  of  Socialism  that  has  ever  been  written." 
—  New  York  Evening  Call. 

Van  Dyke,  Henry 

THE  GOSPEL  FOR  A  WORLD  OF  SIN 

"  One  of  the  basic  books  of  true  Christian  thought  of  to-day  and  of  all 
times."  —  Boston  Courier. 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  AMERICA 

"  In  this  work  the  fruit  of  years  of  application  and  reflection  is  clearly 
apparent;  it  is  undoubtedly  the  most  notable  interpretation  in  years  of 
the  real  America.  It  compares  favorably  with  Bryce's  '  American  Com 
monwealth.'  "  — Philadelphia  Press. 

Veblen,  Thorstein  B. 

THE  THEORY  OF  THE  LEISURE  CLASS 

"The  most  valuable  recent  contribution  to  the  elucidation  of  this 
theory."  —  London  Times. 

White,  William  Allen 

THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  Mr.  White  tells  in  the  trained  words  of  an  observer  about  the  present 
status  of  society  in  America.  It  is  an  excellent  antidote  to  the  pessimism 
of  modern  writers  on  our  social  system."  —  Baltimore  Sun. 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

Publishers  64-66  Fifth  Avenue  New  York 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 

JAI.fi      ,931 


JUN  6    1945 
JEC7 


of  CALIFORNIA 

AT- 

LOS  ANGELES 
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UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  L  BRARY  FACILITY 


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